Stories of Olde
by SiempreNunca
Summary: Somewhere to deposit everything that is going to be reviewed, rewrote or discontinued. A bunch of old stories. You can find here: One with the Snake (not up for adoption), Meant to be Away, Beauty of the Wild, etc. PM if you're interested in adopting one of these.
1. One with the Snake

_His name was Harry James Potter and he lived amongst Muggles_.

The sheer ridiculousness of that fact made him want to rage and laugh at the same time. Salazar Slytherin had passed away a long time ago, in an isolated island, unwanted and alone and yet he found himself skipping centuries ahead to a whole new life under the name of Harry James Potter.

His new body was so unlike his previous monkey-like looks that he didn't even recognized himself anymore. Furthermore, he was so… _tiny_ and _vulnerable_ that it scared him. Needless to say, the Slytherin had long forgotten what it felt to be a child, thus leading him being uncomfortable in his own skin. In comparison to his well-fed cousin, this Potter body wasn't as well-off as he would have wished.

It was a warranted change of pace. Maybe the Fates were punishing for his past crimes by placing him there, into the role of a victim rather than a powerful predator. Or maybe this was what reincarnation was all about: suddenly realizing you were someone else in another life whist meanwhile you had already start living again. Namely, coming to your senses when you came of certain age. Case in point, Salazar remembered bits of his previous existence through recurring dreams, which were soon established as memories, that were slowly being pierced together as his eleventh birthday neared.

Things that would have been undoable suddenly made sense thanks to his newfound memories and knowledge. It was relieving to find himself in possession of magic and not being a useless Muggle, such as his odious relatives. Otherwise, he would have never found solace anywhere, as he hadn't befriended anyone this time around- not that he fancied the company of Muggles-; talking to the random garden snake had been a welcomed change of pace, nonetheless.

Having magic was certainly a plus, as he had wandless magic at his disposal. No sooner he had mastered it he had threatened his cousin with castration if he continued with his "Harry Hunting" nonsense. Sure, the big, fat whale had snitched on him as soon as Petunia and Vernon had been in hearing range, but that ended that- thank Merlin. It was like a breeze not having to run for his life each time Dudley and his gang came across him.

As the nocturnal updates progressed, however, the Slytherin-turned-Potter found himself at odds with a particular subject: the Magical World. Would he return there? He couldn't deny the fact that he was extremely curious how things had changed during his absence, but sometimes he had to wonder if the notion had its merits. The last time around he had royally mucked it up with his ideals; there was a real possibility that those pureblooded ideals had survived his death and the thought didn't appeal to him in the slightest.

The pros in returning were a) he wouldn't live inside a cupboard (as he hadn't threatened Petunia and Vernon into giving him Dudley's second room yet- remaining low profile for now, that kind of stuff), b) he would gain a new wand, c) he would see what fate had befallen Hogwarts and his Basilisk, and finally, but not least important, d) he would escape the dullness that represented Muggle school. The last item on his list was surprisingly one of the biggest bores in his new life; he would rather retake his wizarding education over what he had now.

In the end, he didn't have much of a choice. An owl, in his eleventh birthday as Harry Potter, dropped a letter inside the mail box, even going as far as opening the thing with its beck and closing it in a similar manner. Salazar knew instantly when the owl arrived and when it left, thanks to a mild disturbance in the air around him (as draining as they were, blood wards were pretty useful in the event of something magical happening in the vicinity. This way he had learnt that he wasn't the only magical being in Privet Drive, as Ms. Figg had made them flutter each time she craned her neck over their fence to spy on them).

Salazar did his chores wandlessly that day. Everyone in the neighbourhood witnessed troublemaker Harry Potter rushing through the entrance of number four with his oblivious aunt shrieking for him to stop from the doorstep as he fumbled with their mail box. How in the world did the neighbours missed the plain brown owl that had flown away unnoticed was a mystery on its own. One that Salazar had little care to solve.

There was a single letter inside the metal compartment and it was made of parchment. Its writing was elegant and green and it shimmered against the light of broad daylight.

 _Hogwarts._ Salazar closed his eyes in acknowledgement and longing and he stuffed the letter inside his second hand clothes in plain sight. He ignored Petunia's demands to see it and instead shut himself inside his little haven. Even the loud pounding at the door came unnoticed thanks to the strong locking and silencing charms he had put on his door.

'Well, that takes care of that,' the Slytherin mumbled quietly. He gently tore open the seal on the back of the letter and pulled the contents out for reading. The parchment scrunched slightly under his tight grip as he read his enrolment at Hogwarts, frowning slightly when he didn't spot snakes as a possible familiar.

He took note of who was the current Headmaster, of which titles the wizard was currently upholding- and to his dismay, not recognizing any one of them-, and who the Deputy Mistress was. The items he had to buy were pretty rudimentary overall, and he had to withstand the necessity to facepalm when he read the bit that prohibited first years from having brooms.

There was a problem, however. How in the Heavens did he send the reply the letter asked from him? He doubted an ordinary owl would be of much use as he doubted he could charm it correctly to deliver his response.

'Bugger me,' he murmured. He scratched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought, unaware of the hours ticking by as he sat on the poor excuse of a mattress the Dursleys had provided him with. 'I don't even know how to get there… How am I supposed to contact these people? Incompetent bunch, the lot of them,' he sneered.

In other words, he was in a dead end. Unless he cornered Ms. Figg- whom he'd rather not ask, seeing as her stalking habit was a bit unnerving, magical or not-, there wasn't anything to work with, except waiting. Maybe if he did that, the one that had place the blood wards without his consent would reveal himself and take him away. He couldn't navigate through Britain with his without knowing where to go- the only clue he had was that the place was somewhere near Scotland, or even somewhere inside the country itself. So, he resolved to do that. In the off chance that he was wrong and first of September came and went without any magical contact, he would do some damage control… as far as he could in the body of a child and without vital information. Meanwhile, he would study Muggle maps and get himself familiar with Britain overall, memorizing places until he remembered them as if they were the palm of his hand.

Salazar nodded, pleased with this course of action- wait and see was often the best tactic to employ, especially in situations such as these where he wasn't as prepared as he would have liked in the first place.

He duplicated the letter with a well-versed charm Godric had taught him back in their old days of friendship and buried the original under his belongings. It was highly probable that Vernon would tear the copy in pieces as soon as he saw it, after all.

* * *

In the end, he decided to act a bit Griffindorish and sneak in a snake inside the Dursley's, just to make a point. Obviously, his relatives didn't need to know that the snake wasn't as poisonous as he had bragged about initially or that he hadn't picked it up from their garden when he was tucking away weeds. He had conjured it, but those were details- details, he said.

Vernon had been downright impossible when he had caught wind of what he had done. At first, had been openly hostile, but then, after reading the contents of his "letter", the walrus had acquired a shade of pus that Salazar had never seen in his complexion before. It had been hard to keep a straight face at the horrified stutters of both adults when they realized what the letter meant. The two knuckleheads had actually wanted to go on the run, literally- just taking everything and go. And while normally Salazar wasn't opposed to travelling, this was a bit taking it too far. So here was where the snake came to play, as a warning that he was going to hold to such nonsense as much as they wanted him to perform magic tricks in their presence.

The Dursleys had the nerve to leave him in Privet Drive alone after that. Bunch of idiots.

Angis, the Adder, wasn't a satisfying companion in Salazar's seclusion as he soon discovered. The snake was far too gone in its awe, far too adoring at being able to talk to a Speaker to offer anything akin to conversation. And Salazar was looking for _intelligent_ dialogs, not being showered in praises. It was unfortunate, but soon enough Angis was banished from the house and once again Salazar was left alone, his only companions being the telly, Dudley's videogames and his discarded books of fiction.

They were sufficient entertainment until Hagrid arrived to take him to Diagon Alley days later. Surprisingly enough, he found the mixed breed's company agreeable- he had even been outraged on his behalf at being abandoned by his aunt and uncle; he'd repeat over and over again that he'd talk it over with Dumbledore, as if the man was the solution to all the world's problems. Other than that, he had found pleasant that the half-giant wasn't one to wear facades and he was knowledgeable enough to cover the basics of what was happening nowadays. Like a fruit, he squashed Hagrid dry for all the juicy information he could push for without the other being none the wiser. Including why everyone seemed to follow him with their eyes or looking as they wanted a piece of him.

'You-Know-Who?' Salazar parroted when they made a stop at the Leaky Cauldron to grab themselves some drinks and rest a bit from their journey there before they went "shopping spreeing".

The half-giant blinked owlishly at his question before he grimaced in realization.

'Right. Yer don't have idea of what I'm talkin' about, do yeh?'

When Salazar confirmed his suspicions with a shake of his head, Hagrid moaned in obvious distress.

'Look, name's still taboo around 'ere, so I'll just say it once, Harry,' Hagrid leaned forward, nursing his mug of butterbeer with his other hand and looking oddly stern at the same time, 'Voldemort, that's his name.'

' _Voldemort,'_ He repeated, testing the foreign word in his lips. It proved to be a little too loud for his mixed breed friend as he shushed him soon afterwards; looking about him wildly, as if to check no one had noticed his slip up.

'Don't say it!' Hagrid hissed in panic, 'folks' still are terrified of the name!'

'But why? If the man's dead, there's little chance of him doing harm to anyone. I killed him, didn't I?'

'True,' the Gatekeeper acknowledged reluctantly with a half-hearted grunt, 'but pain's still fresh and the wounds… 'em haven't healed yet.'

 _Seriously, one Dark Lord goes batty and the Wizarding World cowers in fright even after his demise... At least in my times, people stood up to me._

It seemed that Salazar's first assumption that his ideology had survived was accurate. However, what the revived founder hadn't expected was for it to have increased in strength by tenfold. Margination of magical creatures, restricting laws for werewolves, blatant legal discrimination against Muggleborns and Muggles alike… All what he had preached for in the past was now a reality and he had half a mind to torture himself into insanity just for the sake of inflicting pain on himself.

Another thing that Hagrid had cleared up was the reason why everyone had ambushed him as soon as he entered the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently, defeating certain Dark Lords at the tender age of one was something to be worshipped about. That was so wrong in so many levels, especially after being dumped like garbage in the Dursley's doorstep for so many years and acting like a house-elf to them ever since he learnt to walk, or waddle around.

There was no mention of the Blood Wards at Privet Drive.

After that serious discussion at the bar, they finally went to do what they had been meaning to do in Diagon Alley. The shops, Gringotts, everything was quite the sight for Slytherin, as he didn't have any of this when he had lived amongst wizards, back in the Middle Ages. Things like floo and apparition hadn't existed then- only the most rudimentary portkeys had-, so everything was a welcome change. They were even tempting him into trying them out as soon as he sneaked away from Hagrid's presence at the end of the shopping spree. For reasons that should be obvious, Salazar had no intention of being locked away in a Muggle house again, with or without Dursleys lurking about. Not to mention, he was anxious to look at his trust vault again.

* * *

Taking the part as Harry Potter had come with too many disturbing surprises.

 _Heir of Griffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Related to all Peverell brothers by blood. Owner of seven well-off vaults and several properties across the globe. Owner of a wand that is sister to Voldemort's._

 _Emancipated and Lord at eleven._

It was a very rich, but dazed Salazar Slytherin who exited Gringotts, with Hedwig's empty cage and Hogwarts' luggage on tow. His recently-produced key vaults weighed little in his Madam Malkin's robes pockets, yet that didn't diminish the impact of the sudden awareness of his newfound heritage.

Around his middle finger in his left hand rested a silver, non-descriptive ring rested comfortably; a far cry of what it really was. There was no crest, no anything that could indicate that the ring was anything worthy of a Lord, whatsoever. That, however, could change depending on the wearer's intentions and at the moment, Salazar was keeping this development under wraps as long as he could.

He had no desire to expose his lineage to the world; as Harry Potter, he had already too much on his shoulders already. If word got out that he was Lord Griffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, besides Potter, the measly worshipful followers that he had met in Diagon Alley would pale at what could come next.

Salazar shuddered at the thought. Whist in his other childhood he would have rejoiced at the amount of followers he had gathered so far, now he was, quite frankly, thoroughly creeped out. Case on point, this was the main reason why he was now choosing to retreat to one of his properties, Potter Manor. Once the Goblins explained what the Fidelius charm was, he was all for going there. It was a huge plus being the secret keeper of the Potter residence. Even the Goblin that had mentioned the location during the Will's reading had forgotten instantly about it, confirming the effectiveness of the active charm.

Speaking of which, the Will in itself was interesting enough. The name Dumbledore- the Hogwarts Headmaster in the flesh and bone indeed- repeatedly seemed to show up in the readings as the sole witness to its writing. There was no mention of him being his magical guardian, and despite that the man had taken the role upon himself and placed him with the Dursleys, even though James Potter had insisted on 'never allowing Harry to fall into their hateful clutches'.

Needless to say, the Headmaster was on top of his black list right now. Salazar hadn't blown up Gringotts during the hearing only because of the rudimental Occlumency this body had accomplished in the span of two months and the strong Goblin wards surrounding the building. However, a brief explanation after that outburst was in order, especially after the Goblins had taken offense at the powerfully misguided surge of anger inside their territory.

'I was placed with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia no sooner I was one,' he carefully explained with a spear threatening to pierce the flesh under his chin. Inwardly, Salazar cursed his inability to keep his emotions in check as he tried to maintain his tone meek and apologetic, 'they didn't care about me or my magic and I suffer neglect and abuse daily because of this. They made me sleep inside a cupboard for years and they starve me constantly when I do something wrong. That a stranger arranged my placement in such an unhealthy environment makes my blood boil… and I'm afraid my temper got the better of me this time around.'

'Do we trust then,' Ragnok said solemnly with his teeth bared with open Goblin hostility, 'That you can rein control of your emotions for the rest of the reading, Lord Potter? Or do we have to… impose stricter terms to our meetings?'

'You needn't,' Salazar was quick to reassure, 'it was only a one time occurrence. The Goblins don't have to fear anything from me.'

The spears were retracted on the spot, but Ragnok kept a disdainful expression on his face.

'I'll believe that when I see you, wizard, performing an Unbreakable Vow. Unfortunately, it's illegal to demand one of you now, when you are still young by your peer's standards… Until then, let us not digress and finish what we already started.' The Head of Gringotts growled at the seemingly eleven year old, 'without further accidents this time around, Lord Potter. As powerful as you may grow to be, you will regret the day you invoke our fury for real.'

He promptly left the bank after his business there was done, with as much dignity as he could gather after being told off by a member of such a haughty, warrior race. It was far more difficult to do that when his body was one scrawny, unintimidating figure and his clothes were dragged across the floor like the rags they truly were. As kind-hearted as Rubeus Hagrid had proved to be, the half-giant had forgone the opportunity of gracing him with more respectable clothing. Something that Salazar intended to rectify immediately.

No sooner he stepped outside the Goblin bank, he pulled his things into a nearby alley- away from prying eyes. His things rattled loudly, but fortunately the sound wasn't loud enough to bring attention to himself in the bustling of Diagon Alley.

Salazar scrunched his face in concentration, recalling how Helga Hufflepuff had taught him this spell in a dire time of need with a pleasant smile on her lips. He instantly shied away from the memory, chiding himself for remembering a dead person when he knew that she was long gone.

Breathing deeply, Salazar brought out his Yew wand and pointed the tip at his luggage.

' _Intus Celare._ '

Following his instructions to a tee, the items flew into his wand where they would rest until he released them.

Salazar nodded to himself, satisfied and turned his wand to his temple and muttered: ' _Concelo.'_ Quickly, he pictured the changes he wanted and waited; his magic did the rest of the work. It drew circles around him subtly, the multiple layers of magic giving away a faint glow as it cloaked him with its energy. It infused with him and distorted his image as it wound up tighter to his form. In the time frame of one minute, his figure had stretched and broadened significantly. His hair was no longer black, but a mousey brown shade and it had elongated to the point of touching his shoulders. Those emerald eyes that he had grown fond of shifted into what any passerby would call sapphire blue. Going even further, Salazar also darkened and morphed his clothes into long set of standard robes, which concealed him just perfectly from shoulders to toe. Shoes were too tricky to change so the length of his illusionary robes was somehow essential to safeguarding his image. After some pondering, he also discarded his glasses and scar in his illusionary mix- those were trademark Harry Potter features and he couldn't be bothered to be seen with them now.

The former Slytherin conjured a large mirror and gave himself a nod of approval at his handiwork. The spell had been rather effective, considering the many drawbacks it entailed. Instead of just changing everything, it only focused on height and age- in other words, it had made his body "grow" as he imagined it would. And just to add some touches from here to there, he added a bit of facial hair- just enough to darken his jawline, but not enough to make him look shabby- and -with an additional spell-the blue eyes. He doubted anyone would peg him as Harry Potter while he looked like this- or at least when he was in the streets (he needed clothes his size, after all- he would have to drop his disguise to the shop tellers only while he looked for the things he needed; and even then they would see an anonymous kid, not a Dark Lord vanquisher).

He felt his body with his hands and shifted his feet in place. His real body was still gaunt and covered in tatters, but those were hardly significant matters when he moved. Salazar winced slightly when his glued sneakers followed his movements; they protested loudly each time he pressed them against the floor. The sellotape that kept the thing together wouldn't last that much longer. He wandlessly silenced them.

'Shoes first then,' Salazar decided and slipped back into the Alley.

As he exited his hiding spot, he met again the blond boy he had encountered in Madam Malkin's shop earlier that day. The boy was tugging at an older man's sleeve and pointing quite rudely in his direction. The older version of the imp only spared him a glance, creased his nose and went on his business, as if deeming him unimportant. A light tap into the man's mind with a hint of Legilimency told him otherwise, though.

 _Can't be related to the Potter brat. How could I have missed him? And where in the world did that meddlesome goat hide him all these years? Can't have gotten away… People just saw him going out Gringotts!_

Salazar turned away his gaze from Lucius Malfoy's eyes, aware of the piercing attention the man's spawn was giving him. Given that he still considered his actions out of line, he stared back, just for the sake of making him uncomfortable. It wasn't much after that the boy finally relented and he followed his father example, making a show of strutting importantly at his father's side.

'That man was staring, Dad,' he heard.

'Let him stare. I doubt he could do anything to us.'

The boy glanced back. Salazar didn't even try to mask his curiosity and continued observing them both. He took great pleasure in making him squirm again.

Salazar scoffed. Bunch of smug idiots. _Looking for me in hopes of swaying my opinions already? That's low and manipulative and two can play that game._

.

.

 ** _'_** ** _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'_**

 _'_ _That prophesy… who is it referring to?'_

 _'_ _You, Harry. You and Him.'_

* * *

Vernon Dursley was one happy fellow. His nephew hadn't set a foot inside his house for _weeks_. Even better, there had been no letters, no goodbyes, no explanations about his whereabouts; everything suggested that the freak had vanished from their lives, and if they were lucky, that meant _permanently._ Which, he hummed as he hung his coat merrily, was quite possible if things continued to progress this way: Dudley would go on to Smeltings, with no further influences from freaks would stray his son from the right path set for him; his job would bloom favourably at Grunnings and his lovely wife would continue to attend to his necessities at home, just like he always wished for.

Ever since Harry Potter had been whisked away into his home a normal lifestyle had been just out of reach. But they didn't have that handicap now, did they? The boy was gone and with him all threats to his family and social prestige.

Petunia must have been as joyful as him at this turn of events, for she was swaying her hips around the kitchen. Her hands, which were safely tucked into her cooking gloves, cuddled fondly the tart she had just taken out the stove. A merry tune filled the air as she moved and soon he found himself wrapping his arms around her middle; a less than innocent thought playing inside his psyche. He squeezed her sides playfully, kissing the side of her throat in what he thought to be an alluring way to start something hotter than simple kissing. In reality, the kiss was something awfully slobbery against her flesh, but Petunia reacted accordingly, nevertheless. She laughed and craned her long neck to coo at her husband with welcoming eyes. He mistook their glint for a wanton one and he nibbled on her skin in response. Petunia only swatted his wandering hands laughingly and slipped out from his hold, much to his displeasure.

'Wait a bit, dear. Wouldn't want something to burn, would you?'

As she carried the tray and her body away from him, he was suddenly possessed with the urge to pout, but he resisted. Vernon Dursley did not pout like an overgrown kid. It was with great reluctance, but he was forced to agree with her. He did not want to be hotter than he already was at the moment.

'How was everything at work?' She asked.

Fixing his eyes to her bottom, he grunted, 'glorious. I contacted Upland and they are willing to strike a deal if the presentation next week impresses them. And they fired the previous secretary for a more efficient one than the last. This one is younger and much more energetic than that old hag.'

'And did they say why?' Petunia's eyes glinted with the new gossip. She turned to look at him expectantly.

'Something about being too involved with someone from the staff.'

'Should have known, really! Hollie Armand is always asking trouble at work! Last year she was playing around with the son of the CEO of the company she was working for... I wonder who it was this time around?'

Vernon only blinked blandly at his wife's gossip. The information was immediately classified as unimportant, despite the fact that Petunia clearly was enthusiastic to share this bit of knowledge with their neighbours. But he wasn't there for useless chatter; why, they hadn't celebrated the banishment of the nuisance yet!

'What's for dinner?' He asked instead.

Petunia beamed, 'roasted beef. The best we have had for a long, long time!'

Vernon allowed himself to smile mildly at his wife's exuberance and protruded into her personal bubble, his bulging gut caged between their body frames.

'And for dessert?' He purred into her ear. She shuddered, finally getting the message.

'Strawberry tart,' she whimpered. He enjoyed the feeling of having her putty in his hands.

'How about skipping dinner and enjoying our dessert instead?'

'But Duddydumbs?' She protested half-heartedly. The woman had to close her eyes at the resulting tease from the question.

'Asleep on the couch.'

His wife beamed and nodded, 'YES!'

He grunted gutturally as he lifted her small frame. The sound was so primitive it rendered the slender woman into a puddle of goo in an instant. Like the times where cavemen walked amok on Earth, Vernon Dursley carried Petunia in his arms to their king-sized bed. It was a wonder just how they managed to go all the way upstairs, snogging messily and crashing into whatever obstacle they encountered on their way, but eventually they reached their joint bedroom. The sight that awaited them, however, was everything but off-putting.

On their mattress was the undesirable number one; a certain someone who shattered any sense of normalcy: his nephew.

Vernon coloured. His hands accidentally dropped his wife on their bedroom floor. In just an instant, his previous mood was already long forgotten; his efforts only went as far as glaring holes into the intruder's head. He could already feel his neck pulsing, the veins there pounding excessive blood into his brain as he contemplated the best course of action in which the brat ended up dead in some sewers and no one being not the wiser.

'No, Vernon. If you use the bat, then the police will have your fingertips there.'

The adult in question froze. His small, beady eyes were bulging so much it was a wonder how they weren't popping out from their sockets.

Harry Potter only gazed up from the small leather notebook he had lazily flickering through until their arrival. His emerald eyes were wide in a strange open expression, which implied anything by innocence. Not that it fooled anyone in the room.

'Furthermore, if you try to choke me to death, as you so elegantly put it, your fingertips will not be the only thing on my body, but also skin and blood; lots and lots of blood. Gallons of blood from your bloodstream to be exact, my dear uncle. I'll make sure that your corpse has nothing but your rotting bones left.'

The threat hung in the air, coated the pregnant silence that spread between the two parties. Petunia could only gape openly at Lily's son for his audacity from the floor. She made no movements to stand up from there. Harry's only acknowledgement of her presence was a subtle glance in her direction; otherwise, all his attention was focussed in her husband.

'Wh-What nonsense are you sputtering, boy?' Vernon, walrus extraordinaire, stuttered. His knuckles were fisted in twin pale blocks of fury; but those would have no impact on the eleven year old boy, in both a metaphorical and physical sense.

'You were thinking how you could kill me and get away with it, weren't you? I am merely stating that those options were absolutely terrible.

'Look, I'm sorry if I interrupted something,' his smirk told another story entirely. 'But we must let this matter drop if we wish to reach an agreement.'

'An agreement?' Petunia questioned feebly. Her eyes were trained on the notebook in his hand and the ornamented box that lied beside him.

'Oh, yes,' Harry spoke before Vernon could butt in. Green sparkled disturbingly against the dim light, 'about house arrangements, of course. You can't honestly expect me to continue living as graciously as I had before when I already can use magic.'

'RUBBISH!' Vernon hollered. 'You are not to say that word in my house again! AN AGREEMENT? As if I'd listen to anything you say! You show up unannounced for whatever reason and start _demanding_ living conditions? YOU, FREAK, HAVE LOADS OF WORK TO DO! You are in no position to-!'

 _'_ _Silence.'_

To Petunia's horror, her nephew waved a hand in her husband's direction and he was suddenly completely silent, as per command.

'That's better. Let the grownups do the talk,' the boy mocked. His eyes flared dangerously, as if light were flowing from them. 'I'm here, so deal with it already. Every time you come home you will see me lurking somewhere inside these walls. And there's nothing you can do to stop that from happening.'

Vernon foolishly tried to tackle the boy sitting ever so calmly on their bed, only to be intercepted by something that looked suspiciously like ropes. The magical attack quickly rendered the male Dursley unstable on his feet- that, added to his voluminous figure and obnoxiously heavy weight, made him fall flat onto his face. His mouth opened with silent screams of outrage, but Petunia didn't do anything to help him. There was nothing she could do against the young Potter. So instead, she watched and listened to the young wizard in front of her with rapt attention, waiting for him to address her as he would surely do soon.

She was not about to be disappointed. As soon as Vernon stopped squirming violently on their carpet, Harry turned to look at her and, to her surprise, he offered her a small smile. Then he raised a leather book she was well-acquainted with.

Ignoring the fact that his aunt was practically petrified on the floor of the house's master room, Harry leafed through the notebook's pages calmly, stopping his page turning when he reached a certain page. Pointing at one paragraph in particular, he uttered: 'you know, I'm actually quite relieved that you are the one I'm related to, Petunia. Otherwise, I'd cringe with horror every time someone reminded me I share blood with this monstrosity.'

Petunia didn't ask who was the monstrosity he was speaking of. It was pretty much self-explicatory.

' _But_ , I've got to say… I wasn't expecting you to be this petty. Taking out your frustrations with your sister because you didn't get to attend a boarding school?' He tsked repeatedly, swinging his finger from side to side, as if scolding her. 'She was devastated- your sister, that is. You used to be so close and your trifling jealousy severed what could have been a beautiful bond between sisters. You actually slapped her the last time you met her- Ah! So you do remember!' He smiled approvingly at her agitated expression. 'She actually forgave you, you know? You see, she wanted to be on good terms with you, but you were quite stubborn. Really, each time she approached you, you just had to throw to her face her _freakishness_? Bring it up every time you two had a conversation? That's downright rude, not to mention PETTY.

'It's funny. Your whole personality can be described by that single word. Petty… it has a great ring to it, hasn't it? Petunia pettily refused to acknowledge her sister's existence because she had magic and she didn't. Lily was the star of the family, but Petty Pet wasn't- _Mum and Daddy adore her because she is magical._ ' He read with a foolish grin in place. ' _She is special. I'm not._ _Why can't I be special too? Why can't I do what she does?! Life is so unfair! I wish I had her abilities too! Then I-_ '

'STOP!' Petunia roared. She puffed angrily in place, clenching and unclenching her hands, but making no movements to throttle Lily's spawn. As much as she wanted to, no good would come from there. Obviously, he knew more than she had credited him for. 'Where are you going with this?'

The broad, pleasant smile in her nephew's face was reduced to a fierce snarl in a matter of seconds. He tossed her diary onto the floor angrily.

'Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you and be done with this. Even someone as despicable as you must have had a reason why you would condone neglect and abuse in your perfectly _normal_ life. In memory to your _dead_ sister, for fuck's sake, be truthful.'

Petunia gulped. She wasn't sure if it was because of his tone or the fact that he had hit where it hurt most. She was quite aware of the fact that his threat was quite real, as she had seen her sister do impossible things during their childhood. Harry Potter could just turn their bed into a fierce lion and wash his hands of them.

Mustering every ounce of dignity she could, she thought of an answer. Petunia was very much aware of the fact that his husband was worming his way nearer to their infuriated charge and she hoped both for their sake and their son's that he'd broke out from his bounds and subdued the enraged wizard; even if it was a hopeless thought.

Her nephew's eyes sparkled even more as they locked eyes and he smirked.

'Well?'

She opened her mouth to speak; only air went out from it. There was no argument capable to excuse their behaviour these past years, abnormal kid or not. It was in that moment, she realized that they weren't _normal_ per se, but a bunch of abusive folk. The denigrating truth twisted at her insides; there were many reasons why she was speechless at the moment and all related to the person smirking triumphantly at her.

All of a sudden, her mouth was moving against her will. She was not speaking, but words surged from her non-stop. They were a bundle of familiar lies- ones she had repeated to herself over and over as she brought her son up into what he was today; ones that she had said to herself each time she looked at her nephew.

'You were dumped in our doorstep one night- we never wanted you here and we weren't given a choice.'

'You could have dumped me in an orphanage immediately after the anonymous delivery.'

'Abnormal toddlers like you wouldn't have been accepted anywhere… There was also that damn letter… That awful man would have never let us live if we gave you away!'

Harry shook his head. 'You wanted me to suffer; live with the brunt of the lengths of your pettiness as long as I lived with you.'

'No! We were gracious for providing food for you. We could have-'

'Just treated me like a normal person, for instance? Food? Don't make me laugh; there was no food! Only tears, sweat and dirt!'

Petunia whimpered, but her part in the dialog continued, regardless of her wishes to put an end to it.

'We kept a roof above your head!'

'YOU GAVE ME A CUPBOARD TO SLEEP UNDER THE STAIRS!'

Harry breathed deeply to regain his self-control. Petunia felt properly admonished and she cowered back into the closed door of the bedroom.

'What about those chores or the violent punishments? How about starvation? Were those measures justified in your eyes, huh?'

Vernon was half way from the unruly wizard when the boy in question plopped down onto his form, stepping over him purposely as he marched towards his aunt. Only the heavy silencing charms on him prevented him from releasing an ear-shattering scream.

'You. People. Are. The. Worst. Kind. Of. Muggles.' He breathed. His green eyes pierced through her soul- and in a bout of fearful irrationality, she wondered what stopped him from destroying it right there. 'The kind of Muggles I would kill in the bat of an eye. And for some inexplicable reason you are in fact related to me right now. Fate sure has a twisted sense of humour, huh?' He laughed.

Inwardly, she had to disagree. Everything in her world was deranged because of him- because Lily had to go and be a witch and marry and be a Potter-

'I will lay the rules from now on, Petunia Evans. And if you don't respect them, I will turn you and your family into my guinea pigs.' He pointed a slender finger right between her uncrossed legs and suddenly, there was a huge anaconda slithering its length in the room, coiled in a far too near location to her liking. She wanted to jump away from the reptile- she wanted nothing more than to do that-, but with great effort she managed to gawk at the new threat and remain immobile all the same.

The boy leant down and picked the snake up, careless of its size, caressing its greens scales coolly as he glared down at her. He let the animal curl around his shoulders and neck, adding to his intimidating front considerably.

'You will soon learn that you definitely not the biggest sharks in the puddle. You are insignificant and worthless in face to my magic, whether you like it or not. You cannot escape this place; try and you will be drawn immediately back by forceful means. From this instant forward, all of you freaks are hereby bound to number four, Privet Drive- and by extension, me.'

Petunia started sobbing uncontrollably. Vernon, who had tried to make a grab for him again, cried out soundlessly under the strain of the young wizard's newly bought boots stomping down on his hand.

'And that's not all: I'm not doing any slave-work anymore. I will occupy Dudley's room from this day forward; his things are to be moved into his second room. You are not to disturb me there. You will not touch me, you will not yell at me, you will feed me properly, you will treat my guests properly, you will buy me suitable Muggle clothes- those are high time due, by the way. Any attempt against my life will face retaliation. I swear upon it on my magic.'

* * *

'Torpy! Come out! I already dealt with the trash!' Salazar said and waited patiently for his elf to answer to his call.

It came as no surprise that Torpy dutifully popped into his room in the span of two seconds, carrying two small boxes in her hands. Her long ears flopped up and down enthusiastically as she glanced about the room, taking in every single detail of the unfurnished interior. Her bulging eyes sparked in anticipation- Salazar had informed her long before what happened next after this.

'Young Master called and Torpy responds!' She squeaked, bouncing on her feet. Salazar chuckled knowingly; in these last weeks he had gotten himself acquainted with the little creature and he knew by now that she was practically climbing up the wall with need to refurnish the small room.

'Torpy, would you be a dear and unpack our things here?' He asked her affably, smiling softly.

The house elf beamed, looking up at him with adoration and awe.

'Youse do't need to ask. Torpy do it immediately!'

No sooner she had said that, the little elf had deposited the two boxes on the floor, where they started unshrinking themselves after the house elf snapped her fingers. Torpy let out a happy squeal when the boxes stopped growing, leaping for them. She wrenched the lid open in her excitement, and Salazar wondered if the enchantment he had placed on them would hold against the onslaught, wincing inwardly when the metal hinges creaked pitifully.

Soon his wizarding robes were making their way into his wardrobe and his books were getting themselves stacked on the wooden shelves he had gotten from Potter Manor. All of them he had already read, but nevertheless the thought of parting with the knowledge was a big no to the revived founder.

He was quite aware of the fact that his insufferable uncle was peering through the keyhole and that his cousin was demanding quite loudly from the other side of the door that he released his bedroom at once. Yet, neither of them attempted to grab the handle, as Salazar had instructed. He half-wished they did- they were in a nasty surprise should they actually do it.

'Where do you want Jamesy and Lilies?' Torpy asked suddenly, distracting him from his staring down with Vernon's spying eyes.

The elf held two small portraits up- smaller than the ones pertaining to them in Potter Manor. Each one of them was smiling and waving cheerfully at him; one was his splitting image, save for his eyes and nose, and the other, decidedly female, had his striking green eyes and a crimson mane. They both possessed kind and warm smiles. They were smiling at him proudly.

His eyes suddenly felt irritated and he disguised the unexpected surge of tears from them by turning his head, in guise of looking somewhere to put them up. In reality, he was berating himself for being sentimental out of the blue, as if he were a child all over again.

 _Actually, that bit is true,_ that annoying part of him couldn't help but add unnecessarily. He held back the sudden impulse to scowl and stomp on his feet; Torpy would misunderstand and he wouldn't be better than a brat.

'Master?'

'Hang them over the bed. I'd rather have them close when I sleep,' he mumbled.

'Aw, sweetie…' Lily cooed sadly. Her eyes were dim and thoughtful as she studied him from her position.

'Don't,' Salazar held a hand up. 'You already said how much you love me and how much you wish you two were still alive to hug me and make it all better. It doesn't help.'

Lily turned her face away, ashamed, but James stayed firm, despite his son's vehement statements.

'Maybe it doesn't, but that doesn't change the fact that we still have to make up for years of absence. Harry…' James pleaded. 'We love you. We loved you so much we took the Killing Curse for you willingly. We'll just keep repeating this over and over again until the message is successfully drilled into your thick skull.'

Now it was Salazar's turn to look away. However, he couldn't stay depressed for long, for Petunia had caught sight of her sister's portrait inside his room and tried to open the door. The resulting whimpers and yelping were hilarious to say the least.

'Someone's happy you are here,' he chuckled.

Lily hissed, 'well, good for her! I still can't believe my own blood would treat my son like a second-class citizen! I know I wouldn't if she had died and left Dudley with us!'

'I never liked them,' James scowled darkly.

'I never did either,' Salazar confided absentmindedly. He gestured for Torpy to give him their frames. The Potter house elf popped away and returned with a hammer and with two loose screws. Salazar placed his parents on his bed and took the hammer and the screws from the young creature's small hand.

'Is youse needing anything else?'

'I'd like to have my dinner served in half an hour,' he said softly in return.

'Torpy have it done!' She squeaked and promptly disappeared.

Salazar shook his head at the horrible grammar, half-horrified that he actually understood half of what she said to him. Something that he'd hopefully rectify- maybe. With time and loads of patience.

'Of course you wouldn't like them! You'd have to be touched in the head to love such berks!'

'James!' Lily warned.

'What? They are berks!'

'They are much more despicable than just that, but watch your language when you are around our son!'

Salazar smirked, 'I don't mind if he cusses in my presence.'

Lily moaned. James laughed.

'You make me proud, son!'

'JAMES!'

Salazar laughed at their harmless bicker- it never got old. Soon Prongs would retell tales about the Marauders and their adventures at Hogwarts and their rants would never stop.

He took up a screw and brought it against the wall. Hammer in hand, he swung at it and put a dent into the wall. He brought it up again and repeated the action until he had two perfectly pierced holes.

The racket outside the room got louder. It seemed that neither Dinky Duddydums nor Vernon had liked what he did with his wall. But this was just the start. He would have to put a bathroom in there, not to mention a kitchen for Torpy to work on. Maybe even a window made out of unbreakable glass so that he could rejoice at the faces the Dursleys would make when they saw him work and practice magic freely.

Now… he had bigger fish to fry. Once he was done, he would go visit his lovely neighbour, Ms Figg. She ought to have some interesting Intel on the one she was spying for.

.

.

.

'Your office is very nice, Headmaster,' Salazar said conversationally.

'Why thank you, Harry,' Dumbledore beamed, reaching for his pile of wrapped candy. 'Would you like a lemon drop?'

Salazar eyed the sweet with discreet contempt, just like he had been doing ever since he had stepped inside the headmaster's lair. Gryffindor's wretched office remained the same, untouched by the passing of time. Trinkets or not, this office was still irritably similar to when he had last seen it- when he had been in a heated verbal spar with the most boisterous founder of the four; when he had decided that leaving Hogwarts was the best course of action.

He really couldn't believe that some of Godric's "décor" had survived his death for so long.

'No, thank you,' he declined with underlying impatience. 'I'm not hungry.'

'Ah,' the old wizard smiled knowingly, 'I know that you are uncomfortable with being called out here, Harry, but you've hardly eaten at the feast- please, I insist.'

'I'm not hungry, Headmaster,' Salazar repeated, feeling himself tense in a reflexive, defensive posture in his seat.

Dumbledore's smile dropped by millimetres before it returned with full force. Admittedly, the old man's poker face was praiseworthy, but only just. His grandfatherly front was attached by the thinnest of springs- if you looked closely, you could see through the cracks. And Salazar didn't like what he was seeing.

'Very well,' Dumbledore nodded. He unwounded the plastic that encompassed the yellow orb and put it into his mouth. The headmaster sighed as soon as he felt the bittersweet delicacy melt in his mouth. 'You can relax, Harry. You aren't in trouble, my boy.'

'I'm not?'

'No,' Dumbledore chuckled. Those eyes of his never stopped twinkling. Ever. 'Why? Did you think that breaking the Great Hall windows would be enough to give you detention?'

Salazar knew he was gaping, but he honestly couldn't close his mouth. To be blatantly disregarding damage to school property… Oh, the ire. Those windows were very precious! He would know. Rowena herself had hunted down the best of artisans at the time to produce these very windows that were displayed in the Great Hall. It had taken a bit of Slytherin persuasion in order to make the man oblige to his friends wishes- something that until this day he was particularly proud of.

For the current headmaster to address the matter so half-heartily…

'Did you repair them with magic?' He had to know.

The seemingly older of the two nodded genially at his question, much to his relief.

'It was a bit tricky, yes, but nothing I couldn't do. They are up again if you want to want to check.'

Well, aren't you just showing off now…

Salazar cocked his head to a side, waiting for the old wizard to stop beating around the bush. Sure, he had blown up the windows in the middle of the Sorting, but the old man had mentioned that the damage wasn't permanent- in fact, that problem was solved as far as he could gather. He could hypothesize, but until Dumbledore said anything directly he wouldn't give anything away.

When he saw that Harry Potter, his precious prophesied weapon, wouldn't speak up again, Dumbledore took it up into his hands to stir again some dialog between the two of them.

Salazar waited. He knew this would happen eventually.

'Harry,' Dumbledore assumed the air of someone who was treating something with delicate care. His blue eyes tried to look beseechingly into his emerald ones- in vain, as Salazar refused to lock eyes with the old wizard for now. 'I know you weren't aware of the existence of magic until recently. What you did there in the middle of the Sorting it's called-'

'Accidental magic,' Salazar interrupted. At Dumbledore's questioning gaze, he said, 'Hermione mentioned it in the train and Hagrid did when he came to fetch me.'

Ah! There it was! That twinkle again!

'I'm glad you are making friends already. Alas, friendship is something really beautiful to have. I'm sure that Mister Weasley and Miss Granger will take great care of you.'

Salazar started nodding before he purposely stopped mid-action.

'Mister Weasley, sir?'

Dumbledore frowned in confusion. 'Ronald Weasley said you and him were best friends, Harry.'

Salazar's eyebrows rose to new heights.

And, pray tell, when did the Weasel do that? We just arrived here.

'Ronald and I aren't on the best of terms, sir,' he calmly stated. Salazar was proud to recall with extreme detail the way he had all but pushed the pest out of his train compartment. The look on the redhead when he realized that things weren't going his way was absolutely priceless. Hogging the Chosen One's attention wasn't going to be a piece of cake, as he would surely find out sooner rather than later.

Dumbledore's frown didn't deepen, but didn't leave his face either.

'I see,' was all he said. 'Miss Granger is a lovely girl- I'm sure that you will be in good company in the oncoming years.'

Salazar nodded and waited. His Occlumency experienced a slight invasion; nothing grave, almost feather-like, but nevertheless that meant he had been right in avoiding eye contact at the start of this conversation. Passive Legilimency would get Dumbledore nowhere and that's how Salazar would keep it for now.

'Well then,' Dumbledore sighed. 'As I was saying, bouts of accidental magic happen only when the wizard or witch in question is under the pressure of a particularly overwhelming emotion. I must say, Harry, I was surprised by the magnitude of your surge of magic. Leads me to think that you aren't all that accepting with being a Gryffindor.'

Salazar shrugged, not bothered at all at this question.

'Gryffindor isn't my choice of house.'

The mad sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes diminished ever so slightly.

'May I ask why?'

You are so direct, it's almost gullible, Dumbledore. The wizard was underestimating him severely for someone known for his wits.

'The House of the Brave just isn't me. I'm far more of a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor- I can even say I'm more of a Slytherin, even. So you can imagine how startled I was when the Hat sorted me into the one house I wasn't originally pinning for.'

'I see,' Dumbledore muttered, but Salazar wasn't finished yet.

'You see? Well, that's fortunate because I really don't. I wanted to discuss my options with the Hat and wing it from there. Imagine my surprise when it barely touched my head and shouted Gryffindor on the drop of a hat- sorry, no pun intended.

'Look, think about it from my point of view. The rest of my classmates spent a lot of time with the Hat on their heads- they even said that they could bargain with it about where they would spend the rest of their school years. So imagine that- me, I didn't get to talk to the enchanted object and instead dropped me like hot potatoes the first chance it got.'

Dumbledore stared at Salazar with enough force to drill a hole into his forehead. Undoubtedly, the old wizard wasn't expecting complaints about his house placement or him being this outspoken in the presence of a higher authority. Salazar also suspected that he wasn't dealing well with the fact that a first year wasn't seeing eye to eye with him, especially when Harry Potter constituted a piece so important, the fate of the wizarding world rested on said piece's shoulders.

Well, that sucked for him because Salazar knew who had confounded the magical artefact and doomed him into wearing red and golden clothes for seven years straight. Needless to say, the culprit had to pay. It wasn't even because he held a grudge against Dumbledore- he was really past the point of no return there-, but because of the simple principle of putting someone in their place.

The old wizard had no saying where he slept, where he studied or even who he befriended and that was something that he would imprint into Dumbledore as much as he could without being direct about it in the process.

The Salazar Slytherin could play the part of a Gryffindor effortlessly- as much as he could portray the image of being the Saviour of the world. Besides, if he thought about it, true Slytherins weren't even supposed to be in the house of snakes- that way you could strike before the others even acknowledged that part of your nature. It was the perfect cover.

So, no- he didn't mind being in Gryffindor. The robes, the surname he could put up with as long as he didn't put much thought into it. Manipulative old goats better go running down the Scottish hills, however- the sooner the better.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. The silence must have made him uncomfortable.

'Bravery is in everyone, Harry. As such, maybe the hat saw just how much you have stored inside of you. Lily and James were true Gryffindors- my best bet is that you are more like them than you seem to realize. That's the only explanation that I can come up with for now. I'll try to make the hat reconsider his decision, but I have to warn you - the hat doesn't like to have his word questioned. Being resorted hasn't been done before, I'm afraid.'

In other words: you are stuck in Gryffindor. Deal with it.

Salazar nodded, ignoring that little voice in the back of his mind that ached to make a scathing retort about Gryffindor impulsiveness, which the old founder had little or none of.

'Is that all, Headmaster?'

'No, I'm afraid not, Harry.'

Salazar raised his eyebrows questioningly. Dumbledore coughed in return.

'It's about your little episode in Privet Drive.'

If possible, Salazar's eyebrows disappeared above his hairline.

'Episode?'

'You ran away from home this summer, didn't you?'

Salazar closed his eyes in comprehension. He did his best to pass it off the as blinking, but it was, unfortunately, for naught. At Dumbledore's poorly hidden beam he had to muffle an annoyed moan.

'Would you like to talk about it?'

NO. 'No,' he said curtly.

Salazar didn't even take pleasure at Dumbledore's expression when he rebutted him like that. The manipulative wizard deserved it- he wanted Gryffindor? He would get Gryffindor. He had long grown tired of the usage of subtleness in the headmaster's presence. Salazar hoped the blunt approach would have the other backing off, because he had no brain power to think about another strategy at this hour deep into the night.

'I'm sorry, Headmaster, but that is a private matter, one which I'm in no mood to talk about. However, even if I were, hypothetically speaking, of course, in the mood to discuss such matters with someone, I wouldn't do it with someone I just met. I mean no offense to you, sir, but I don't know you. And while I appreciate your concern, I have no desire to speak about a bunch of abusive Muggles.'

The pregnant silence that followed his ultimatum was nothing short of oppressive. Dumbledore's reaction to his last statement wasn't favourable in the least- it had been an absentminded slip of tongue. One that Salazar hoped that wouldn't come back to bite him in the arse.

The pressure against his mental shields increased tenfold, as far as passive Legilimency could hope for once you accomplished an absolute mastery over the art.

Salazar inwardly winced at the forceful approach and let some of his annoyance and impatience sweep past his defences, in hopes that the old wizard would interpret the emotions accordingly and oh-so-politely drop this unfounded mental battle.

'I understand, Harry,' Dumbledore said finally, with those blue eyes struggling to get Salazar's eyes within eyesight. 'It's a pity you weren't accepted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but I'll do what I can to correct the hat's decision. Hopefully, you'll learn to trust me in time. Though I do admit I'm actually glad you weren't sorted into Slytherin. Public opinion is a strong thing in there and theirs' isn't the most favourable about you.'

He took out a sheet from the bundle in his desk and gave the parchment to him. There the headmaster explained away his presence late at night, should Salazar stumble across a professor or even the caretaker, Filch. 'Have a safe trip. But remember, Harry- you can tell me if anything troubles you. That includes anything that happened at home.'

Salazar nodded sceptically, locking eyes with the white-bearded wizard for the first time in their little encounter. The force of the mental attack made him wince outwardly- and this time he didn't even bother to hide his pain at the assault.

Salazar rubbed his temples with gritting teeth, sighing in relief when the mental prod faded to more acceptable levels.

'Headache, Harry?'

'Yes, sir,' he replied. He didn't have to pretend his appreciation at the absence of pain. 'Ever since the Sorting, my head's been killing me.'

'I see,' the old man had the nerve to smile innocently at him. 'If the pain becomes too much don't hesitate to go to the Hospital Wing. Poppy is the best medi-witch you'll ever find in our world.'

'I will,' Salazar replied. His hands were shaking mildly as he stood up. 'Goodnight, sir.'

Dumbledore beamed at him. Suddenly, Salazar was assaulted by the strongest urge he ever experienced yet- he wanted to bash his fist in so badly his hands clenched and unclenched on their own accord.

'Likewise, Harry.'

Son of Morgana, if this was how he treated his prophesied champion, he couldn't imagine how Albus Dumbledore treated his enemies.

* * *

'Stupid Dumbledore, stupid Hat, stupid Gryffindor.'

The old portrait of the Fat Lady eyed him disapprovingly inside her frame, her eyes bleary from sleep. She looked far from appreciative of his dark mutterings in the middle of the night.

'What are you doing outside? Curfew was two hours ago!'

'The headmaster called me into his office, if you have to know,' Salazar glared at the portrait's scathing remark. His magic flared in warning, only making the portrait huff moodily.

'Oh, fine! Just let me sleep like any other decent human being!' And the door opened. Salazar wasn't about to remind her that he had yet to pronounce the password. He strode purposely inside, ignoring the rest of the portraits mutterings directed to his back.

As irritated by the encounter with the headmaster as he was, Salazar didn't even glance around to see who remained in the common room. He was afraid his eyes would melt if he stared at the walls for too long.

The blackness of his musings had him so absorbed that he didn't see her coming from behind.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder out of nowhere, sending his senses into haywire, making him release a rather shrilly squeak in response to the unwanted touch. Wand in hand, Salazar swirled around to face the offender, only to deflate when he saw Hermione Granger staring at him in surprise. Her hand had lifted from his shoulder and had frozen in the air with her palm facing him. The two of them stared for a moment, not doing anything other than lock eyes with the other- emerald and chocolate examining each other with varying levels of apprehension.

Finally, Salazar closed his eyelids and released a long-suffering sigh. He let his muscles relax and he could feel her doing the same.

'Sorry,' he rubbed the bridge of his nose in self-spite and annoyance; such reaction was unbecoming of him. He found himself wondering if his other parents were rolling around in the dirt in their graves out of despair. So much for engrained composure in times of adversity.

'No need,' Hermione breathed. She hesitantly took his hand and, when she saw that he wasn't pulling away, dragged him into a corner. Salazar looked at her appraisingly; for someone who valued rules so much, she was risking being seen after curfew in the first day of school- her being inside the common room, notwithstanding. 'Did everything go okay? Are you in trouble? They can't expel someone for not having control over their magic, can they? I'm sure that Dumbledore-'

'Hermione,' Salazar interrupted, raising a hand to her lips. 'Stop. You are rambling. Breathe. I'm going to answer any questions you ask me- I won't disappear overnight. No, I'm not expelled. Everything went as fine as it could possibly go- and no, technically no one can be kicked out from Hogwarts for being unable to have a firm grasp with your magic. They can give you detention- which Dumbledore didn't give,' he said when he saw that she was going to start again. 'So, yeah. I'm fine. Everything is fine.'

Hermione looked down to his finger, which he hadn't moved yet, and looked at him with a silent request. Salazar understood, nevertheless- a bit flustered that he had failed to notice that he had done such an intimate action to someone he had just met that day- and that wasn't even past his prepubescent years.

A Muggleborn, even. Though she wasn't half bad, admittedly. Something he couldn't say about everyone in this castle.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

'It's okay,' Hermione nodded with a small smile. 'I'm glad that you aren't in trouble, Harry. Just… don't scare me like that, okay? You are one of only friends here.'

Salazar blinked, noticing the absence of the other said friend. 'What happened to Neville?'

'Ronald scared him away,' Hermione frowned, biting her lower lip in remembrance. She missed the deep scowl that marred Salazar's childish face. 'Now that I think about it, he hasn't come down ever since he made fun of his parents…'

'Ronald Weasley is a prat,' he said.

'Language, Harry!' She chided vehemently. Salazar's eyebrow twitched in annoyance at her hissed admonishment, but otherwise didn't reprimand her for standing up for her ideals. Merlin knew that her confidence was fickle- her encounter with the bigoted wizarding populous on the train was too raw in his mind.

'But he is!' He insisted rather childishly.

'Oh, tell me something I don't know,' she hissed impatiently. 'He stole my books! Of course I know that he is a prat!' Her hands flew to her mouth when her mind registered what she had just said.

Salazar smirked at her horrified expression, feeling strangely proud that somehow he had made her slip.

'See? Cussing isn't the end of the world.'

Hermione huffed and turned her nose upwards to save face. It was mildly amusing for one Salazar Slytherin, who had viewed countless of pureblooded individuals doing that same arrogant pose.

'Still,' she insisted. 'It's wrong!'

'Right…'

'Oh, let's just drop this conversation, okay? It isn't leading anywhere!'

'Of course,' he said smoothly. 'Let's just agree on one thing: avoid the Weasel as much as we possibly can. And-' he added as an afterthought, 'we may have to do some damage control with Neville. I'm sure he has a good reason to be upset.'

Hermione only nodded her approval, but her stance relaxed considerably after that declaration. She eyed him speculatively, some hidden intent hidden underneath her eyes. For a brief moment, he considered the usage of Legilimency before he caught himself and shushed that notion away from his mind.

He immediately regretted not acting on that urge when he saw how intently her eyes trailed the shape of his lightning-bolt scar.

'Is something the matter?' She had gone silent for a while, after all- although he had a hunch about she was thinking about. He hadn't been all that discreet during the Sorting, temper or not.

'Is your scar-?' She began, but stopped suddenly. She shook her head in silent denial to her inner thoughts and bit her lip.

Salazar unconsciously imitated her, shifting his weight on the bench Hermione had sat them on.

'My scar?' He prompted. He felt undeniably curious about her inquiry- her mind was incredibly mature for her age, so her question was bound to be at least interesting.

'Never mind,' she said.

'Okay…'

'It's just… It's not my business, I mean…' she stuttered.

'Hermione, I think you should let me decide what's out of bounds for you. My scar, as far as I know, is public knowledge so it's hardly private.'

Hermione worried her lower lip again and touched the reassuring strands of her hair to gather momentum- hopefully, it would be enough.

'I may be wrong, but… I saw you wince and touch it at the feast, as if it had caused you a migraine.' She stopped and looked at him attentively. Her tone wasn't speculative, but rather affirmative- and so Salazar knew that she knew the answer. She was just waiting for a confirmation.

'Was there a question somewhere?'

She frowned upon his cheekiness, deeming him unworthy of a proper answer.

Salazar sighed. 'You aren't wrong- it did hurt. In fact, ever since I stepped into the castle I feel the occasional prickle here and there. But I doubt it's anything to worry about.'

'Harry, you were already sent to the headmaster's office before class even started! How can I not worry?'

'Look, if it gets bad, I'll go to the Hospital Wing. That's all there is to it.'

Hermione didn't look convinced, but eventually relented.

'I'll see you tomorrow then,' he said as dismissal.

'Sure, Harry. See you tomorrow…' her voice carried no small amount of uncertainty as he walked away. It forced him to look back at her- Hermione remained still on the bench, looking down at her lap.

'You never said what happened on the train.'

She started, jumping slightly on place as she raised her gaze to look at him. Once their eyes met, she avoided them entirely.

'What do you mean?' She muttered. 'You saw what they did.'

And he did remember. Salazar had irrupted into a perturbing scene while he was looking for the bathroom during their little ride. Hermione and Neville had been there, but what originally shook him was that they surrounded by sneering people dressed only in green and silver garments. Some were pulling Hermione's hair painfully, but most of them were talking eagerly to the duo- and from the expressions from the pair, Salazar doubted the subject they were commenting on was remotely pleasant.

The shame that filled him when he realized just how badly his house had fallen had prompted him into action.

'I do have an idea,' he admitted. 'But that doesn't mean I know the whole story. Look, if you need someone to talk about what happened, I'll lend an ear for you. I know a thing or two about bigotry and I'll have you know: nothing about it is real. You are in Hogwarts- that makes you as much of a witch as them. Think about it. I'll see you tomorrow. And don't you dare get yourself worked up. I'll have your books back in the morning.'

Hermione shot him a watery look, but her smile was worth seeing.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' she muttered.


	2. Meant to be Away

**-Chapter one-**

 **The Dogfather**

The first sign of mistreatment of the child known as Harry James Potter was particularly obvious on his first day of school.

The raven-haired boy that was shifting uneasily in front of the entire classroom had distinctively baggy clothes that barely hang from his tiny frame to the point of ridiculousness- as the child more often dragged the rags across the floor than wore them. Many of the kids present started whispering conspiringly at the sight of him, some knowledgeable of him already. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, smirked triumphantly at his plight over the heads of his classmates, even as the teacher shoved him forward, derision clear on her old face. It was apparent which was her opinion of her newest student- he was nothing but a rebellious child that purposely went out of his way to make fun of the sacredness of the educational institution that was school by not even bothering attending the first week of the term. Her sneer also showed loud and clear her disdain for his choice in clothes.

"Well, then, Mr. Potter," The teacher drawled slowly out of her tongue, "If you'd be kind enough to inform us of your full name before the bell rings, we'd be grateful."

Harry blinked at her in obvious puzzlement, rather bewildered at being addressed as Mr. Potter. Not one to be patient, the old lady started drumming her desk, piercing him with her hawk-like eyes over the frame of her glasses. Belatedly, Harry realized that she was pressing him on.

"Uh… Sure…" The boy uttered and turned apprehensively at the snickering class. With a gulp, he managed to get out: "P-pleasure to meet you… My name is Freak…" He stopped short at the shriek of outrage of the blotchy red faced woman behind him and the howling laughter that reached his ears. Lots of fingers were pointed at him and several children ended on the floor for cackling too much.

And so the misery began.

* * *

Harry, now much older- at the prime of his ten years, almost eleven soon- still got mocked for his nasty slip-up at school. Fortunately, though, he now long knew his full name. He knew it ever since that day, courtesy of his screeching uncles.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia weren't caring guardians- no, not caring at all. They weren't family- blood ties also being moot point-, just _guardians._ And pretty lousy at that too. The reason was fairly simple: if slavery was admitted nowadays, that'd been young Harry's status for a long, _long_ time. A slave to cook and clean- to answer to the Dursleys' every whim. A slave to be the unwilling punching bag until he began to fight back. Then there was a grudging respect, but even then trading blows was fairly common.

It was no secret that Harry loved the Dursleys as much as they shared the feeling. Once he even tried to rat them out to the police for child abuse, but unfortunately, it was for naught.

It was uncommon how the whole thing cooled down. No one he had contacted outside the house ever remembered the phone call he'd made or anything related to the Dursleys' more than deplorable treatment of him after searching _and_ finding the cupboard under the stairs. Even more surprising, instead of beating him senseless, Vernon, Petunia and their devil spawn gave him a wide berth from then on. Not even refusing to do the customary chores set Petunia and her shrieking off for a whole week.

And then all began again.

It was all _terribly_ infuriating _and_ maddening. In an untameable surge of rage, he almost blew up the kitchen after he got told off for the eighth time in a row how to properly roast meat by her insufferable aunt, much to the delight of his whale of a cousin. As it was, he only burnt off all traces of her aunt's eyebrows and the front of her hair in his temper tantrum. The sight of their stupefied faces made his weekend without food or water worth it. Not even Dudley's excluding birthday presents and outings to the zoo soured his pleasure at Petunia's extreme make-over.

* * *

The Dursleys always made a point to forget about his birthdays altogether, save that one time that Vernon gave him one of Dudley's broken toys on the wake of Harry's nine years. So of course he had expected nothing remarkable to happen.

He was to be proven wrong.

Harry's eleventh birthday started as normal as ever- with Aunt Petunia ponding on his door.

"Wake up, boy! Time for you to make us breakfast!" Came his aunt's shrilling voice. Harry was sorely tempted to go back to sleep and ignore her nagging, but finally he grew tired of her shrieks as he laid on his bed. He knew for certain that his aunt would continue her antics unless he did something, so he did. He unlocked his make-shift lock- for Dudley protection mostly- and opened the cupboard door, masterly avoiding Petunia's fist and slipping away from her reach in obvious disregard for her presence.

"I'm up," Harry muttered grumpily as he made way for the kitchen. Even his aunt's feeble attempts at intimidating him weren't amusing enough for him to break out his mood. Instead, they just annoyed him today. That being said, Harry just fled to the kitchen to be spared of their morning routine, ignoring thoroughly the loud protests and snide remarks his aunt spat behind his back.

Untouched and spotlessly clean, Harry had to ignore the nauseating scent of the cleaning products mauling his nostrils with little to no success and proceeded to get to work. In approximately ten minutes, Vernon would bring his bulk down the stairs, demanding to be fed breakfast so that he could go ahead and go to Grunnings. Harry wondered as he cooked how much beacon would be necessary for his dear uncle to have a heart attack one of these days. Judging from his voluminous gut filled with fat, the boy hoped that it would be soon enough.

Distractedly, Harry grabbed a couple of slices there and there for him to devour later- for now, they would just sit on his pocket. It wouldn't do to be up at this hour and skip breakfast at his uncle's insistence and under his aunt's scornful sight.

Just as he put down the last of the plates on the dining table, his ears picked up on the characteristic groaning of the stairs as someone trotted down them in no short amount of hurry. The clock above Dudley's set of pictures- none in which he appeared- informed him that Vernon still had time to work.

Slightly bemused, Harry had little time to react before Vernon, with his representative rubicund complexion, stalked in his direction, trying and failing to appear as daunting as possible.

"What's this I heard from you, boy? Blatant disrespect of your betters this early in the morning?"

Harry only blinked at the unprovoked aggressiveness in his tone.

The woman in question popped her head into the living room, craning her long neck as she watched expectantly the confrontation. Harry glared at her momentarily before Vernon caught his attention again. This time with interest.

The redness on his uncle's face had turned into a purplish-blue tone. Hesitantly, Harry locked eyes with the outraged Vernon and only years and years of interaction between the two of them prevented him from stepping back.

Oh. It seemed like Vernon was in mood for a beating.

Harry, having lived through mistreatment all his life, knew instinctively to duck before his mind had time to process the command. Vernon's fist, while slow, was enough to flatten him on contact. His survival instincts made him stepped back as Vernon swung his arm in the air, his body mass following the movement awkwardly as he stumbled.

Petunia yelped in the back and a small squeak alerted Harry of the presence of his cousin nearby- yet Harry waited silently. The eleven year old glanced uncertainly at the front door, barely visible from his position, and estimated whether or not he would be able to reach the front door without being plummeted to the ground. Coming with negative, his focus centred on the plump form almost towering him and wondered if it would be a good idea to grab a knife out of self-defence.

"I've got up to here," Vernon testily spitted, his arms flailing wildly around him in a poor attempt to gesture his point across. "With your attitude and your disobedience! A freak like you should have been grateful for our generosity when we took you in when nobody wanted you, but instead you make a mockery out of us! YOU WILL LISTEN TO US WHEN WE TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING, BOY! We have tolerated your foolishness for too long! If we tell you to scrub the floor you will do it and be thankful for it! If we tell you to bow, you will do so, no questions asked!"

"So you are asking me to lie down and become your servant again?"

Harry shook, but not because of fear. He had to physically restrain himself from lunging forward. His breath caught momentarily as he felt that surge of energy again, wobbly at first but then sturdy as ever, fighting within himself to be released. The light above them started to flicker slightly- the television went on and off in the back.

Vernon leered at him rather snobbishly, unawares of the storm of electricity raging in his house.

"No, of course not," The man- Harry refused to even call him a guardian now- sarcastically sneered. "You never stopped be-"

"Vernon!" Unexpectantly, Petunia cut across between the two of them. Her hands rested warningly on her husband's chest while she gawked openly at her nephew. "That's quite enough!"

"NO! Obviously not! Can you look at him in the eye and say that he learnt his place? I think not! We agreed to stump out his freakiness when we accepted him in! Now it's not the time to step down, Petunia!"

"You're provoking the boy and you know what happens when we go too far with him!"

"IF WE DID OUR JOB PROPERLY-!"

"No, Vernon!" Petunia shrieked desperately, "This isn't the time for this!"

His uncle crunched his face in indignation at her response. With his fists clenched tightly into balls against his sides, he glared at Harry and opened his mouth again:

"I'm not having this conversation with the ruddy brat inside our home! OUT, OUT, I SAY! DUDLEY, GO UP TO YOUR ROOM!"

Harry hurried up, almost crashing into Dudley in the doorway as they both rushed out the living room to their own destinations. He was quite conscious that his uncle was on his tails, making sure he was out of the house and not inside hiding in his cupboard. His hand was on the doorknob when suddenly there was a resounding ring coming from the front door. Harry stopped on his tracks, unsure of what to do. His uncle, however, didn't hesitate and shoved his nephew away from the door. With a last glare as a warning to keep quiet, Vernon wrenched the door open not so gently, looking as though he would shout mercilessly at the unwelcome party requesting entrance to his home.

He did shout, but out of surprise as a colossal black dog suddenly jumped him from outside and made him fall over the floor on his back. All the while the animal snarled and howled warningly at the human being at the mercy of his paws.

Harry, not quite expecting that turn of events, sat still on the bottom of the stairs, his eyes never straying away from the unusual happenings in front of him. Secretly, he cheered the dog on, amused as slobber sprinkled Vernon's face with vengeance as his uncle started struggling against his living shackles.

"PETUNIA! GET THIS MONSTROSITY AWAY FROM ME!"

The dog's ears perked up at the sound of another human approaching and soon its head turned to receive the intruder with another warning growl.

Petunia yelped as she saw those strangely-tinted silver eyes glaring at her from beneath all that coat of fur and made no more movements in favour of releasing her husband. In fact, she grew very still as the dog seemed to warp into the body of a sickly-looking man, her eyes wide with horror in silent realization. Harry too watched from his spot on the stairs with morbid fascination as the man tightened his hold on his uncle's wrists. Vernon, however, gawked at the newcomer like a fish out of the water and all the blood run out of his face in record time, leaving it looking quite ashen. He looked positively green once the man turned his attention again on his still form under him.

"Sirius Black!" Petunia mid-whispered, mid-squealed in panic and Harry knew for certain that he was missing a lot of vital information for the whole situation to make sense.

The man- Sirius Black- was possessor of a marble-like complexion, with tattoos flowing across his body like scarfs wrapping around his wrists and fingers. His eyes were the only thing that seemed to have a spark of life within and even then they were hidden by long matted tresses of black hair and a pair of dark circles under them.

Harry didn't blame Petunia for her meekness- the man appeared to be possessed with his rugged exterior. He seemed to be on the verge of murdering someone- Harry just wished he was to be spared of his wrath.

"Petunia," Was the frosty reply, followed by a slight tilt of his head. Sirius Black stared at the woman for a moment longer before he gracefully got up from his position straddling the still gaping Vernon. "I kind of wish our meeting was far more… pleasant than this."

Black glanced in Harry's direction and meeting the boy's eyes, he gave a feeble impression of smiling a warm greeting. Considering everything, Harry thought he should commend the man for the effort- except he couldn't shake the feeling Sirius was examining him thoroughly. He tensed instinctively as the man's gaze washed over him. Sirius Black scowled slightly, to his utter mortification, as he ended his beseeching look and turned to the, now, standing elder Dursleys.

For a moment, silence reigned in the room as both parties seemed to breathe- only one seethed in silence.

"Harry, here-" Sirius began and Harry twisted his neck in his direction so suddenly he almost had whiplash. "Seems a little thin, don't you think?"

Sirius paused, as if to give them room to respond before he continued.

"How come when I decide to visit I hear you not only yelling at him, but attempting to smack him- 'stump out his freakishness', I think it's the quote verbatim?"

"That's none-"

"Vernon- he's an escaped convict. Please shut up!" Petunia shushed him urgently, tugging at her husband's shirt to keep him away from the other.

Sirius Black, a convict? Harry gazed at the man with wide eyes. Now a tinge of fear echoed inside his chest.

The aforementioned smiled oddly at the comment, as if he was stuck between wanting to rage or laugh for the audacity of the woman for calling him that. As it was, he didn't deny it, Harry noted with no small apprehension building inside of him.

"C-Convict?" Vernon stammered, glancing at him and Harry hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm being chased by the law- not yours, mind you, but escapee is the term being used officially," Sirius Black finally laughed, though Harry didn't understand the subtlety of the joke in the slightest. Even the laughter sounded hollow, out of place in his wry face. "So! Now that my identity is in the clear for all of us," Harry winced when he looked at him, only to realize- surprise, surprise!- that the convict seemed hurt at his reaction. "I'm here for answers… and I suggest you give it to me now."

Another long silence. Someone could be heard panting and shifting nervously up the staircase. Dudley.

"Harry," The boy in question went of his reverie to look at the suddenly aged man looking at him. This time he was mindful of his reactions. "The Dursleys treat you well?"

"Why?" Even he was surprised by his question, but once his mouth moved he couldn't seem to stop. "Would you kill them if I told you no?"

Sirius' eyebrow rose at his wording, mirthlessly pondering about his question. Petunia and Vernon held their breath when the shabby man stared at them.

"No, I don't think so."

Harry thought, and thought again about what to say. In the back, Vernon was frantically mouthing to him to lie. But what was the point of lying when this was his possible ticket out of here? The convict in front of him didn't seem to have any ill intent towards him- in fact, he was wound up for _his_ sake.

Not to mention, he also seemed to share his 'freakishness'- if by turning into human from his dog form implied any of that.

 _This_ was risky, but maybe worth it. And he'd said he wouldn't kill them, so he guessed it was alright?

Seizing his chance, he said as neutrally as possible: "No, they aren't. They are mean to me most of the time and Aunt Petunia makes me do most of the chores her when I'm not at school," Harry paused, taking in the thickening air and examining his interrogator closely. "Which- now that I think about it-, it's a lot, especially since now it's summer… Uncle Vernon gets mad at me a lot and sometimes he hits me even when I try to defend myself. Dudley-"

"Now, there-! It seemed that the boy isn't anything but a liar! How petty of him to accuse us like that!"

"Vernon!"

"Shut up and let the grownups do the talking," Sirius barked, a wooden stick in his hand. With a swish, something sprang from the wooden artefact in direction of Harry's relatives. The result was a current lack of sound coming from them- not even their breathing was audible.

"It's a simple silencing charm, don't worry, kiddo," Sirius smirked at his awed expression, showing off the stick to him by throwing and catching it mid-air with ease. "No harm done. It'll eventually go off on its own."

"That was wicked!" Harry exploded, basically glowing in excitement.

"Yeah, I know." Sirius smiled, truly smiled at him for the first time since he had stepped into the household. Harry found he quite liked being smiled at, his smile was quite likeable, lopsided like that- he soon found he was smiling himself at him too. "Now, tell me in detail what these Muggles did to you."

"Muggles?"

"Non-magical people," Sirius explained briefly, but only succeeding in puzzling him more.

"So what you did was magic then?"

Sirius grimaced at the question, but then nodded eagerly, not minding in the least when the Dursleys left them in the hallway. When Harry pointed him that out, Sirius only shrugged in response.

"They won't be able to talk for a whole day. I doubt they can call anyone for help, can they?"

And there only was one unlocked door. Unless they went through the window, they wouldn't go anywhere.

Harry smiled, actually beaming at the newcomer's genius and proceeded to tell him all about his stay at the Dursleys.

.

 **-Chapter two-**

 **Curiouser and Curiouser**

"What do you mean, my father's alive?" Harry had asked still at the Dursleys, his throat dry as parchment and his stomach weighing a ton.

"Exactly that. When your mom died, he was devastated and due to… circumstances-"

"Sirius," Harry interrupted him- his Godfather- curtly, with no tact present in his voice. "Tell me everything. Please."

Sirius grimaced and then complied.

His Godfather told him everything about his family and their role in the Wizarding World. The news of his father being alive- his name was James Charlus Potter- and that he had a brother- a twin brother in fact- was a bit of a shock for young Harry. He tried to visualize two clones of himself running around, only to fail miserably at the endeavour. His twin's name was Charlus Daniel Potter- taking after their grandfather's name for being the eldest between the two of them, but, mind you, only after two minutes of difference, according to Sirius.

"So…" Harry murmured, "The Wizarding World was at war and my parents had to go into hiding from Voldemort and his supporters because of this weird prophesy, right?"

"Spot on, pup," Sirius nodded encouragingly, looking on with pride as the kid said You-Know-Who's name without even thinking twice about it.

"And my mom died trying to save m- us," He corrected himself hastily. "Because this bloke did the Killing Curse on our mother…"

Sirius nodded, though there was a shadow lurking beneath his eyes, "Lily couldn't survive the _Avada_ Curse, but somehow you two did. When I got there James had fainted from a concussion and I couldn't do anything because Dumbledore tied me with a Binding Charm-"

"Because they thought you were the Secret Keeper of the Fidelious Charm, right? Only mom knew about the change."

"Wow, kid- you are as smart as your mom! When I was your age I could barely keep up with my teachers at Hogwarts!"

Harry smiled meekly, unused to the amount of compliments Sirius was giving him during these two hours since their meeting. His cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment.

"Uh, thanks…"

His Godfather's eyes softened in comprehension and he slowly lifted both his arms to hug him, mindful of his flinching at the close contact. In his ear, Sirius confessed:

"Your mom and dad were happy to have you both, but after all the Voldemort shite hit the fan, James couldn't keep both of you with him, with one of you having the Prophesy hanging from their head."

"How do you know that? You were in Azkaban when he left me here, didn't you?"

"Don't remind me, pup. Please." Sirius pleaded. He had fresh memories from the place since he escaped a week ago- two days were spent trying to locate his Godson after hearing him being out with the Muggles, with his aunt. He had heard before from Lily just how intolerant the wrench was with magic and the thought alone of Harry being raised by her had turned his stomach wildly.

"Sorry…"

"It's alright, just don't mention that name for a long, _long_ while in front of me." Sirius paused, breathed and went back on track, "What I've told you are only suppositions, Harry," He admitted, "But I've known James for a long time, so I can reckon what he must have been through since Lily…"

"Since my mother died." Harry uttered.

"But he didn't check on me, did he? Why didn't he? Just what stopped him from coming? Unless, he already…! And if he did, why didn't he see how much I was suffering here? Didn't he know I was sleeping in a cupboard?" Harry exploded a moment later, on the verge of tears, his fists hanging tensely to the sides as rage circled in his veins. He vaguely sensed Sirius tensing around him.

"You lived in a cupboard?"

Harry flinched at the obvious anger in Sirius' expression and filled him in with that unfortunate detail he had missed.

"Lily called James a man-child when he was out of line," Sirius thoughtfully informed him before transforming back into his Animagus form- he couldn't wait for him to show him how to do that!- to exit the Dursley's. "I'd say what you experienced here was far too cruel for a kid- when I first saw you I thought I saw a man inside the body of a child.

"Hopefully, you'll never have to step into this house ever again, Harry," Sirius ruffled his already untameable hair in an affectionate gesture.

Harry also had hoped with him.

Now, he was trotting in Diagon Alley with a huge black dog tailing after him.

He felt weird, even if Sirius had assured him that the glamour was only that- a glamour and that his hair wasn't actually brunette, or his eyes blue. Even the thought of having a whole unfamiliar facial structure on was uncomfortable to think about- so he tried not to think much about it.

Sirius had said it was necessary, after all.

Harry had agreed after he thought about it- since he was so alike his brother and father, chances were that pedestrians would connect him with one of them and that would attract them like flies plunge into honey and that wouldn't do when your Godfather was a registered Animagus that had escaped prison, even if not even the Aurors didn't know about that particular detail yet.

List in hand- his letter had arrived a couple of days ago-, he glanced at Padfoot (or as he was supposed to call him in public, Snuffles) and nodded at the Shop of Madam Malkin's. After this he had to get a pet- familiar, Sirius had called them- since he couldn't bring his Godfather along and his wand. Sirius had wanted him to go to Ollivander's last for some unknown reason and he wouldn't budge when Harry had asked, to his frustration.

Harry already had money after a short visit to Gringotts- both him and Padfoot were a bit unnerved by the ability of Goblins to tell whether or not Sirius was truly a dog or an Animagus- so even if the school robes were a bit costly, he would endure the prices until the last item was bought. And if by the off chance that his Galleons wouldn't survive the trip, Sirius had some spare money on him as he already had a vault and the Goblins don't tell on people with money, especially someone of Black ancestry.

Padfoot came to rest against the wall of the shop, calmly laying his head on the ground and looking every bit of the dog he was trying to impersonate. He would lay there until he came out with his robes, as Madam Malkin, while eager to have costumers, wasn't about to have animals soling her floors and fabric. The dog blinked at him blankly, clearly waiting for him to act.

Harry in response carefully sidestepped a blonde boy with snobbish air about him as entered Madam Malkin's and was immediately greeted by the shop owner. Her smile was blinding even as she took in how sheepish he must have looked.

"Hogwarts, I presume," The woman said cheerfully. Harry could only nod at the amount of attention he was receiving and let himself be led to a stool. It took a couple of minutes, but soon he had his robes and he was exiting the shop much more excitedly than when he had arrived.

Only to collide against someone just entering.

"Sorry! I wasn't looking, I'm so sorry!" It was a plump, round-faced boy that hovered fretfully over his head. He continued to rain bewildering apologies continuously, to the exasperation of the old woman holding the boy by his shoulder.

"Neville, just help the poor lad and quit making a fool out of yourself!"

"No, it's alright…" Harry mumbled meekly.

"Nonsense! Neville help him up this instance!"

The jumpy boy nodded rapidly and obliged to the demands of the lady. Harry soon found himself standing and not knowing what to say to the duo in front of him.

 _Might as well be thankful_ , thought Harry as he awkwardly recalled how many conversations he had had with someone of his age. None were fond memories.

"Thank you and sorry for the trouble," He uttered.

The old woman nodded approvingly and said: "Good manners. Thank Merlin there's still polite folk around here. You should take note, Neville- the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom would benefit from the heir respecting basic etiquette."

"Yes, Gran," Was the response.

The boy's grandmother nodded and disappeared calmly inside Madam Malkin's, while the poor round-faced boy hesitated at the entrance.

"See you at Hogwarts?" The boy, Neville, asked.

Stunned by the gesture, Harry only nodded. Neville's face fell slightly before he disappeared as well.

Padfoot barked cheerfully when Harry reached him, obviously having been bored to the point of tears during his absence, and they both took off to see the owls, the toads and cats.

* * *

Hedwig took flight as soon as she was out her cage, under the instructions of her meeting them at the Leaky Cauldron in half an hour.

Now, with Ollivander's towering over them, both made their way into wandmaker's shop and Harry was suddenly struck by the level of energy radiating from the walls of it. Looking closely, Harry found out that the walls were full of small shelves- each with a box of its own, while near the counter multiple boxes were piled next to what Harry guessed was Ollivander.

The man was agelessly old, there was no other way to express it. His eyes seemed to pierce them with its glistening silver iris in such a way he was sure that the wandmaker recognized the existence of the Animagus trotting next to him and his façade. But, strange as it may come, it didn't unnerve him as much as it should. Instead, his presence just made him feel completely out of place.

Ollivander dropped the box he was holding and eyed them closely, "And who may you be?"

Harry gulped, but answered, nevertheless, "Harry Potter, sir."

"A Potter then? I wasn't aware of the existence of another son of James and Lily- until now, I guess," The wandmaker offered him a weird smile and Padfoot shuddered next to him.

"I wasn't aware until recently either, sir," Harry replied nervously. He couldn't resist the need to glance around the interior of the shop as he felt that something was tugging at him from somewhere in there.

"Oh, well, that's a pity," Ollivander expressed softly, "But enough of formalities for now as I expect that you want your friend to remain anonymous…"

Padfoot nodded emphatically at that, not even bothering covering up.

"So we'll just get you a wand, Mr. Potter."

Ollivander took out a measure tape out of his pocket.

"Left-handed or right-handed?"

The question was so sudden he almost forgot to answer at all.

"Um, right-handed, sir."

"Hold out your arm. Yes, that's it." He measured Harry all ways imaginable. And it was when Ollivander wrapped the measure tape around his head when he asked himself exactly what he was doing. How exactly this was going to influence his search for his wand was something he couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" Ollivander started shuffling around the boxes in his left pile, not even bothering to look at him at the moment.

He was going to say, _I feel funny because of all that tugging_ , but he feared to sound silly and so instead he just asked:

"What are you doing?"

Ollivander raised his head in a most curious manner, tilted to the side and but with his silver eyes never straying from his pile of boxes- stuck somewhere between bending it down and holding it upright. Front his perspective, Harry thought for a moment that his neck had been dislocated until he reminded himself of the impossibility of it.

"Interested in wandlore, are you, Mister Potter?"

"Uh, a little bit, yes…"

"In that case, I'll give you an answer," Ollivander rose with a black large box clenched in his hand, "I'm trying to determine the length of your wand, the elasticity of it and the core that's more appropriate for you."

"All that by measuring me?" He couldn't help but ask.

Ollivander chuckled, "Of course that there other factors that are taken into account, but measuring is by far one of the most common to use and more widely accepted."

 _Which means that there's more_ , Harry curiously picked up.

"Measuring isn't always physical, Mr. Potter." Ollivander commented with a peculiar twinkle in his eye, "Your personality influences most of the wand picking, as it will favour you when your temperaments are alike."

"You talk about them as if they were alive, sir."

"The wand always chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter- no matter what they tell you that's the most basic knowledge of wandlore. They may not breathe like we do or move like we do, but they're most certainly magical and they do possess a will of its own. How else would they trade alliances otherwise?"

Even Padfoot was hooked at this point and Ollivander laughed that off, choosing to open the box instead of commenting on it.

Instantly, Harry knew something was off about it and was reluctant to pick it up.

"Uh," Harry's hand hovered hesitantly above the wooden stick, "Sir. This one feels odd."

"Odd?" The silver in the wandmaker's eyes seemed to sparkle, "How?"

"It feels… wrong."

"Wrong?" Ollivander muttered barely above his breath, his eyes sizing Harry. "Curious, most curious… Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you been called by a particular wand since you entered here?"

"I've been feeling a tug around my chest area, if that's what you are asking," Harry shifted uneasily at having the wandmaker's face so close to his, noses almost touching. He almost went crossed-eyed from the sheer proximity.

Ollivander stared at him for a moment. Then he said: "Point me. Tell me which wand is calling you."

After fifteen minutes of Harry wandering aimlessly on the left side of the shop, he finally pulled to a stop and glanced upwards. Up there he could see the non-descriptive box that was calling him, right at the top. He was about to announce it when suddenly the box floated down towards his arms. A quick glance at Ollivander assured him that the box hadn't moved on its own and instead the wandmaker had pulled out his own wand to drag it down without any help of any stair case in the shop. Convenient, to say the least.

"Apple and phoenix feather." Ollivander murmured, holding the wand with careful fingers. "Thirteen and a half inches." He bended it a little, seemingly surprised by its yielding nature. "Nice and springy."

He turned his pale stare to Harry's own forest green.

"A fine wand, for a fine wizard." Ollivander offered him the Apple wand reverently, eying how the young man slowly grasped it.

Harry felt warmth as soon as his hand took hold of it totally. A current of wind toyed with his hair, revealing the part of his forehead where his mild lightning bolt scar was supposed to be under the glamour, whilst some rays of light flashed upon him. Somewhere, someone started singing during the commotion, just as loud as Sirius' excited barks.

"Now wave it a little, Mr. Potter."

The young wizard nodded and did it. Instantly, birds shot out of the piece of wood and started circling him welcomingly. Finally, two birds dared to rest down his dark mop, where they chipped comfortably until Ollivander banished them. However, by then dear old Padfoot was barking with laughter, to the boy's dismay.

"Shut up, Snuffles!" He mumbled, more embarrassed than irritated.

The old wandmaker took his wand from his grasp and wrapped it in brown paper, back into its corresponding box. Next, he gave him a small, but large bag to carry it around.

As he went into the street, in direction of the Leaky Cauldron to meet Hedwig- Good Merlin, they were late by twenty minutes; Harry prayed for the owl to be merciful- Ollivander's words came back in form of a forceful flood of memories.

"I find it most curious that a pair of twins possess the feathers of the same phoenix as their wand core. Even most curious- the same phoenix core of a certain Yew wand I sold to young Mr Tom Riddle fifty years ago shares both of your wand cores.

"Definitely something you might want to research, isn't it, Mr Potter?"

.

 **-Chapter three-**

 **Nothing's Perfect in Paradise**

It turned out that Sirius' break out- Traitor on the Loose!, the Daily Prophet sputtered- was coincidentally breached to the public one day before September the first, the day when he was finally going to Hogwarts.

Both of them had laid low, renting a room in the Leaky Cauldron under the guise of Liam Gregory Durett and his son, Mitchell Thomas Durett, with Tom, the bartender, as his host. Harry couldn't complain of the service, never having a room quite this large even if he had to share it with Sirius. As they were in Diagon Alley, they never got bored- Sirius surprisingly enjoying his role as tourist guide as he explained to Harry all of the shops there and the wizarding customs he had been ignorant about. Being raised as a pureblood sometimes had its merits, Sirius admitted.

Sirius, Harry discovered, would have been the actual head of the Noble and Ancient House of Black had he not been a prosecuted criminal on the eyes of the Wizarding World. His Godfather also shared something none of them actually wanted to discuss in detail- Sirius findings when he broke him out of Durskaban, as they called it now, notwithstanding-, unhappy childhoods at the hands of their relatives.

Sirius' mother had been by far the most vicious.

"But that was old dear mother for you- nothing more important than blood purity and the eradication of Muggleborn. I'm quite happy I turned out the way I did- it could have been by far worse."

Harry hesitantly agreed, as Sirius adjudicated his current mentality being a consequence of being James Potter's friend during their years at Hogwarts. However, as he gazed upon the Daily Prophet's August thirty first's release he couldn't help but have second thoughts about his father.

Whilst in the photo of the cover of the newspaper James Potter appeared to be calm and collected, his blatant accusations on paper were everything but. As an Auror- again, Wizarding World's version of a policeman, he made himself remember-, he was supposed to have an objective point of view- well, he failed at that endeavour spectacularly.

 ** _Auror Potter Swears Revenge_**

 _With affable aplomb, here at the Prophet we report, Auror James Potter gave a very public report on the happenings on that tragic thirty first of October, finally shredding a light on the events that put an end to Lily Potter's life, mother of the Boy-Who-Lived, Charlus Daniel Potter._

 _The father of You-Know-Who's vanquisher sombrely recalled the series of events that led to the security breach that cost him almost everything._

 _"_ _We were under a Fidelious Charm in a desperate effort to live in peace, even with the death and gore raining on the streets. However, any opportunity of that happening was crushed the moment before it began- we named Sirius Black our Secret Keeper and that's the worst mistake I ever made in my life. He gave You-Know-Who our address freely, putting into grave risk my wife and son- even me._

 _"_ _Honestly? I should have died that night, but as ridiculous as it sounds, luck was at my side. You-Know-Who's Killing Curse miraculously missed me when I ducked to a side. Unfortunately, I underestimated the distance between me and our dinner table and fainted on impact. You-Know-Who must have thought I was dead, because the next time I wake up to the Healers telling me that my wife had been murdered by the Dark Lord and my son is victim of a scar curse._

 _"_ _And all this was Sirius Black's fault!"_

 ** _(See pages 3-4 for complete story)_**

"It should be Peter's name there, not mine," Suddenly a voice to the left growled, air tickling his ear.

Harry was quite conscious of the fact that the owner of that same voice was the same accursed man his biological father was searching for. He didn't bother to try to hide the paper away from view as he was sure that his Godfather had read the whole story already.

"You didn't say what happened to Pettigrew, did you?" Harry's voice was eerily calm in contrast to Sirius' enraged exterior.

"Being a bloody Auror, he is! Look at this load of tosh!"

Harry looked at what he was pointing and sure enough, Peter Pettigrew's name appeared there, at the bottom of the page. The man ghastly in appearance, balding and with more grey hairs he cared to count, but the Prophet rendered him as much attention as the father of the Boy-Who-Lived, having lived through a similar experience with Traitorous Sirius Black. Oddly, he gave him the impression of a rat.

"What did you say his Animagus form was?" Harry absent-mindedly questioned his Godfather once he had calmed down.

"I never did, but the coward's a rat- literally. Selling out the Potters like that and Obliviating the change of Secret Keeper out of James' mind after he had found him unconscious…! He framed me perfectly- fuck!"

Sirius punched the wall, but only his knuckles cracked. The only thing that prevented the other guests from hearing were the heavy silencing wards Sirius had put up upon arrival and Harry thanked Merlin, Circe and Morgana for that ones.

He stayed silent as Sirius wobbly walked to their shared bed and collapsed on it, his knuckles tainting the blankets with blood from their injuries. Instantly, Harry started nursing the damage, grabbing Sirius' stolen wand. Fortunately for the two of them, the wand didn't have a Trace on it and Sirius was quite capable with it.

Harry mumbled the only healing spell Sirius had taught him and watched as the skin of his knuckles reformed itself in front of his eyes. It was beautiful and mortifying at the same time to watch the process happen so quickly and he watched it with morbid satisfaction until there was no trace of the injury left.

The Animagus flexed his hand and thumbed up his approval at the well-done spell, rolling dejectedly upside-down to stare blankly into the roof.

Harry waited; he always waited for the older man to pull together his thoughts before saying anything.

Finally, Sirius talked and he did so in monotone, not betraying anything at all.

"What did I do to have my life so royally fucked up?"

"The same I did, I guess," Harry shrugged, "Do you reckon my father and brother remember me?"

"James…? Maybe. I'm not so sure about Charlus," Sirius laughed, but it was brief and hollow, "You two were inseparable when you were younger. I can't remember how many times you begged poor old Padfoot to give you two a piggy-ride. Even when my back cracked into two separate spines, I couldn't say no to your puppy faces."

"I'm glad."

An agreeable silence fell between the two of them, with the two staring unseeingly into space. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Sirius, you are the head of the Noble and Ancient House of Black. Can't you demand a trial?"

He felt more than saw Sirius' negative response, "No, Pup. That doesn't work unless I turn myself in and even then there are no guarantees. Not when Dumbledore is convinced of me being Dark. And the Death Eaters in the Ministry want a scapegoat within reach- meaning I would give them the golden opportunity to point fingers at me. Nope, I'm screwed."

Harry fell silent again, plotting and searching for possible loopholes to exploit. Finding none, he sighed as dejectedly as his Godfather did moments ago.

"Give me time, Sirius. There must be an answer. I will search for anything that can help you inside Hogwarts- you mentioned there being a huge library, there _has_ to be something!"

"Woah, woah!" Sirius chuckled, almost sounding like his old self. "I never pecked you for being a bookworm!"

"'m not!" Harry growled impatiently, "I just worry, that's all!"

Sirius wasn't convinced, "You'd do well in Ravenclaw- you already have glasses and the attitude, soon you'll-!"

"Five Galleons I will be in Griffindor playing pranks on unsuspecting victims," Harry retorted in mock anger, but the amused glint was back.

Sirius gave him a full-fledged grin, "Deal. Dunno why you're betting since we pretty much share our currency, but just for laughs I'll oblige you."

"Oh, I'll be the winner of this little bet, Sirius Black," Harry Potter gave him a mirror-like version of the grin his Godfather had on before.

* * *

Hogwarts express was voluminous and purely crimson. It spit vapour randomly, each time appearing to have released more and more than the last. It was just like Sirius had described it.

Harry found that he liked it.

The raven-haired boy fought not to glance about in search of a familiar black dog and instead focused on carrying his things- damn, they were hefty! It was easier now that Hedwig had been released and was on her way to the castle- she would have never forgotten, much less condoned him knocking on her cage as much as he was doing it now-, but nevertheless the point was it was almost impossible to carry the heavy load into the train. Sirius had mentioned the possibility of applying the light-feather charm, but Harry had refused, to his utter current dread, insisting that since he had been raised Muggle it would be suspicious that he had the charm on. It was a long shot, but Harry could be paranoid if only to protect someone he held close to his heart.

People were turning around and pointing at him now that he didn't have the glamour on and it was becoming a bit unsettling. More than twice he had to force himself to remember that they were mistaking him for his brother, who had yet to appear in the station, and not because they suspected him of knowing the whereabouts of a publically wanted criminal.

It came as a relief to reach the compartments, as the people were still out socialising with their families and most of them were empty and free to choose from. Harry didn't know anyone nor did he plan on talking on the train. For now, he wanted to read ahead in Charms and Transfiguration, as he had realized that they were by far his favourites. Defence was fairly good, only that the author wasn't all that talented at writing and tended to repeat things from time to time. So Charms and Transfiguration it was.

He could almost see Sirius barking a laugh at the sight of him, mockingly making snide remarks of him being a 'Claw at heart as soon as he saw him with those books open. Harry didn't care, they were fun to read and even funnier if he could find them practical uses.

The train had finally begun moving, the people already on board the train. Harry was fairly surprised when nobody entered his compartment since he hadn't actually chosen one of the last rows, but that was short lived as a familiar plump form stopped by.

The sandy hair was fairly recognizable, but what was unmistakable was the form of the poor boy's face. Neville. Definitely Neville Longbottom.

"Hullo," The newcomer nervously greeted him. "Can I sit here? All of the compartments are full."

"Yeah, sure," Harry remembered to properly smile at him this time. He gestured at the seat across from him, never ceasing his polite smile.

Neville looked relieved as he made himself comfortable, but that's when he took in his appearance and he tensed all over again.

"Charlus?" The boy sputtered, blinking wildly at Harry. "What are you doing here? Where's Ron?"

Fighting a frown, Harry struggled to keep his voice even in face of the tactless comment. It wouldn't do to scare off Neville when the boy was the only familiar face he knew.

"Sorry, but you are mistaken. I'm Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter," Neville repeated, as if tasting the name. "Are you sure that you aren't Charlus?"

"Quite sure," Merlin, if that was going to be everyone's reaction he wasn't sure how he was going to endure his stay at Hogwarts.

"Oh, sorry then. You're so alike… You said your surname was Potter?" At Harry's nod, Neville proceeded, "How are you related?"

"Twin brothers, apparently," Harry smiled testily, all the while trying not to make his annoyance apparent. "Only recently known as well."

"Oh," Neville awkwardly reflected on his tone and dropped the conversation right there.

The two boys shifted in their seat. Harry's hand actually twitched to grab the Transfiguration book he had dropped when Neville had arrived just to have something to do.

He was beginning to wonder if he'd better excuse himself by going to the loo, when Neville's nervous voice filled the silence again.

"I'm sorry if I came across as rude- I, it really wasn't my intention…"

"I get it," Harry interrupted, smiling despite himself and the awkwardness coating the air. He offered his hand as a sign of peace. "Let's start again. I'm Harry Potter."

Neville immediately seized the chance and grabbed it. It was slightly clammy, but not as sweaty as Harry had imagined.

"Neville Longbottom."

"I know," Harry laughed and moments after Neville joined in as well whole-heartedly.

"Which house do you want to join, Harry?" Neville tried as conversation.

"I'm hoping for Griffindor, and you?"

"Me as well… But I'd probably go into Hufflepuff, anyway…"

"Hey," Harry placated, hands raised. Fortunately, this did catch the other boy's attention. "If you really want to be in Griffindor, just ask. My Godfather said that the thing that sorts us takes into account our opinions on the matter- and thank Merlin for that!"

"You think so?"

"Sure, mate," Harry nodded emphatically, "Just fight for the gold- uh, sorry, Muggle expression…"

"I think I got the message across, thanks," Neville said, his smile widening good-naturedly. "I just hope that whatever I get my grandmother is satisfied."

Harry eyed the other boy with pity, "I sure hope so."

Neville sighed, a defeated air surrounded him as he did so, "She's never satisfied, no matter what I do."

It was obvious by now that his new friend had some self-esteem issues- Harry seemed to attract that kind of people like a siren call. Well, he intended to change that in the long run, didn't he? If this were the Muggle world, he'd long have called a therapist. As it was, however, there weren't people like that in the Wizarding World, so the job fell on his shoulders- he mentally added Neville in his list to help out, next to Sirius' name, who'd recently revealed to him how much his incarceration had affected him, admitting having recurring nightmares and depressive thoughts constantly in mind.

The Dementors were merciless- Harry winced only by remembering his Godfather's whimpering at night.

"Tell you what? Tell her that you've already made a friend no matter what happens today. If by the off chance you go into any of the other houses, you'll have something to brag about."

Neville actually beamed brightly at him for his assurance.

* * *

The friendly ambience didn't last long.

Neville was just introducing Harry to Trevor when the compartment door flew open, making the Longbottom heir clumsily drop his toad to the floor because of the sudden movement. The familiar was soon out of the door with both of them gaping dumbly after its retreating form.

"Oh, dear. It seems like someone lost a toad here!"

A mocking laugh distracted them from their stupor, noticing for the first time who'd had interrupted their privacy. It was a group of three boys, no older than they were, but towering over them imperiously. One stepped ahead from the others, calling all the attention to him.

With his platinum blonde hair gelled back pompously, the bloke looked more like a snooty peacock strutting around and Harry was immediately reminded of the Dursleys as he gazed upon the blonde's face, tilted pronouncedly in a disdainful sneer. It didn't take much to conclude who'd been the speaker.

"Well, well, if it isn't Charlus Potter and the squib Lardbottom! I always knew the Boy-Who-Lived didn't know better than associating himself with the wrong sort, but I'd never figured you'd step this low!"

The goons behind him laughed dumbly at the blonde's rude commentary, as if there was a joke in the insult- though they probably found the insult funny on its own.

"And what's the matter to you?" Harry hissed angrily, noticing how Neville's shoulders sagged without bothering to retort. His mind bristled as the blonde boy stopped sniggering to openly stare at him.

Sirius had warned him of this kind of people- blood supremacists, they were called. In a nutshell, they thought themselves to be superior to others of 'impure' ancestry, including mixed breeds and people with blood ties to the Muggle world. The Malfoys were one of the many families that supported the ideals of blood purity and with their distinctive features, it wasn't long before Harry figured who was standing in front of him.

If he'd remembered well, this was Narcissa's son- the son of Sirius' cousin.

"Lost weight recently, Potty?" The Malfoy heir jeered again, examining Harry closely. "Your daddy's not feeding you enough? Shrunk over summer?"

Harry's knuckles turned white by the way he was clenching his fists.

"Shut up, Malfoy, that's none of your bloody business. In fact, why don't you swag your arse elsewhere, like a good stuck up boy is supposed to do?"

Malfoy- he'd guessed right!- flushed in anger and advanced a step menacingly towards him. Behind him, the two goons pulled themselves to their full height and tried to pierce holes through their eyes.

"Careful, Potter," Malfoy breathed with eyes flashing darkly. "Daddy's not going to be always around to protect you. It would be a pity if Black found you and gutted you like the worm you really are, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry couldn't quite supress the snort that came out derisively at the blonde's threat. "A pity, alright. Now get out of here before I knee you."

The racist boy stepped back just in time before his knee actually collided with his groin and Harry had just enough time to push him out of the compartment before the blonde could come out of his stupor. However, the goons prevented him actually pushing the three out with their superior strength- and body bloody mass-, leaving them at a standstill at the door.

Harry reacted before the Malfoy heir did.

"Help! Gorillas in the train!" Harry shouted on top of his lungs.

Not quite looking as confident as he entered, Malfoy glared fiercely into his nemesis' eyes, "What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter!" He hissed.

Harry fisted the boy's robes threateningly and pushed harder to make him stumble backwards.

"Oh, I'm just gathering witnesses."

And sure enough, heads poked out curiously to watch what was happening outside. Just in time to watch Malfoy stumble into his goons outside Harry and Neville's compartment and fall gracelessly into the ground of the hallway. Harry inconspicuously took his Apple wand and muttered something under his breath as the trio struggled to their feet. With a pop, their pants fell into a heap to the floor, leaving the three of them quite exposed under the watchful gaze of thousands and thousands of students.

"Potter, you'll pay for this!" Malfoy howled in outrage as he made a run for it, followed by the rest of his panicking group. The view was so hilarious that peals of laughter tailed them as they disappeared from sight.

Harry chuckled silently, closing the door of the compartment before anyone could ask any questions. He was met with an euphoric Neville beaming at him.

"That was bloody insane!" The sandy-haired boy exclaimed uproariously. A grin unlike other extended from ear to ear on his face.

"I really ought to thank Snuffles for the spell he taught me," Harry smiled complacently as he resat on his seat.

"Snuffles?"

"A codename for my Godfather."

"What's a codename?"

Harry winced. He had forgotten Neville's ignorance of Muggle vocabulary.

He tried to explain it, he really did, but when the subject jumped from Codename to Codes he wasn't sure what to answer. Luckily, or not so luckily, the door reopened swiftly and spared him from answering.

This time the intruder was a bushy-haired girl. She was quite gangly, but she had an air of bossiness and severity that didn't quite come with her age. Her arms were crossed in a true disapproving manner as she shifted her gaze from him to Neville.

"I know that it happened here and I know that one of you did it, but really, was it necessary to skim that low and prank those boys in front of everyone in the train? Framing Charlus Potter was a low blow, even if you are patented troublemakers-"

"E-Excuse me?" Neville sputtered, staring owlishly at the girl.

"So," The girl rambled without breaking off. She glared expectantly at Harry as if that would make him confess for all his crimes. "What are you going to do to remedy the situation?"

Harry stared unblinkingly at the young witch and said nothing, bristling inwardly at being addressed so poorly and by someone who really didn't have any business there. What was with people walking on him today?

"U-Um, sorry…" Neville tried, trailing off when he realized he didn't know who he was addressing.

"I'm Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

"Hermione…" Neville started, playing the role of the peacemaker, "May I call you that?" At her nod, he continued as she watched him expectantly, "The boys that you are defending came into our compartment and started to provoke us, so you really can't fault Ha-us for retaliating…"

"So you're saying the best way to deal with bullies is attacking back, is that it?" Hermione Granger said snappily.

"Uh, no, not quite…"

"That's why you were implying!"

"How is this any of your business?" Harry muttered mutinously under his breath in a surge of protectiveness at seeing Neville's helplessness.

Hermione Granger turned to face him, eyes wide.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't just walk in and demand for answers. We don't even know you- what are you even doing? Interrogating us?"

"Harry," Neville cut in gently, in a bout of bravery.

Harry stopped, but continued to mutter darkly as he glared at the corner of the compartment, watching as the scenery changed irritably.

"Look," Neville began softly, taking in the shaken form of the bossy girl. "They came in and started insulting and threatening us. Harry just threw them out from here. We don't know how their robes got broken." _Lie, lie,_ "As for us framing Charlus… Malfoy mistaked Harry for him. You can't blame us for that."

Hermione Granger breathed deeply as she collected herself. Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing how she examined his physical appearance with a critical eye.

"Well…" She finally mumbled, "I can see how that's possible. The two are really similar…"

"I'm Harry Potter," The boy in question glared at her coldly. "I'm my brother's twin. We're bound to be similar."

Hermione Granger started and then proceeded to return the evil eye.

"I've never heard of a twin of the Boy-Who-Lived…"

"And then how do you explain me?" Harry interrupted sharply.

The girl examined him like a hawk, faltering when she saw just how similar he was to the boy he had seen with Ron Weasley.

"I don't know… Polyjuice or something…"

She was obviously grapping at straws- even if Harry had no idea what a Polyjuice was, he understood that fact-, but Harry had the powerful urge to make her back down and he didn't want to supress it.

"When my name is called at the opening ceremony, we'll see."

Hermione bristled, "I know I was out of bounds earlier, but that doesn't justify your behaviour or your petty anger!"

Neville shrunk down from the temperamental standoff, muttering something about his toad and exiting silently the compartment.

Harry reminded himself this was a girl and girls couldn't be hit out of frustration, no matter how painful in your neck were. He passed a hand through his dark mope of hair to outlet his annoyance.

"Look, just leave me alone. We're both emotional and we aren't thinking straight! During this ride I was threatened, yelled at, suspected of being a liar for more times I care to count. I just can't take it anymore. Please… just go away."

The bushy-haired witch's rosy cheeks flushed harder and she opened her mouth to voice her objections when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Shortly after, the door opened an old lady carrying a trolley with Wizarding candy appeared. Her worried gaze beseeched the two of them.

"Everything alright here?"

Both of them shared a glance before they wrenched them away anew.

"Yeah…"  
"Everything's fine, ma'am…"

The old lady shot them a knowing look before she reverted to her previous kind exterior.

"Would you like anything, then, dears?"

Harry shook his head negatively, feeling slightly ashamed of being caught arguing.

Hermione must have felt similarly because she blushed a blotchy shade of red that would have made Vernon proud.

"We are fine."

"Well, then, I'll be on my way. No more fights, understood?"

They nodded their ascent and the old lady hummed a merry tune before closing shut the door.

The two of them, embarrassed and not knowing what to say to each other, let the silence carry on for a bit more before Hermione spurred into action.

"I'll be… on my way then."

Harry gulped, looking everywhere except in the witch's direction, "Yeah… you do that."

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob before she shook her head at some unknown thought.

"Okay…" She finished awkwardly. "Bye."

And she wrenched the door open tenderly, stumbling into someone on her way out. Before the door could snap shut, Neville's head poked into the compartment anew, this time having something clenched within his palm. He was eying Harry warily, something that took him aback.

"Everything alright?"

Harry sighed, growing tired of that phrase already.

"Everything's fine, Neville."

.

 ** _-Chapter four-_**

 ** _Different Types of Courage_**

The train soon slowed down and eventually came to a stop, fortunately for one Harry Potter, as he was getting tired of the occasional onlookers that peered into the compartment to gaze at him.

Neville Longbottom smiled agreeably at him -not quite as meekly as he did on the start of the journey, fortunately- in silent understanding. He too was getting a bit unnerved by the curiosity of their peers, if the fumbling with his hands was any indication of that, but unless they knew a spell to keep them away they couldn't do anything. For the sake of putting it into Muggle wording, the compartment seemed to have grown a neon sign somewhere in between the middle of the journey and now.

Had Harry known the full impact of announcing his presence this early, he would have stayed quiet. But, nevertheless, what's done it's done, including that confrontation with that Hermione girl. He already felt rather guilty about his part in the discussion. He had already promised himself he would try to apologize on a later date.

With their cloaks on, the two boys waited for the rest of the train to empty, watching in awe as the older years wrenched the younger students on their path away from their trajectory and into the wall of the hallway.

Harry was ready to suggest they opened the door when he caught sight of something truly bizarre, walking carelessly in the hallway, stopping him dead on his tracks.

Charlus Daniel Potter, his twin brother, strolled leisurely with a redhead to his side and a dark-skinned boy on the other, chatting excitedly about a topic Harry couldn't strain to hear through the glass.

Though he loathed giving it to him, Harry had to admit that Sirius had been right on his offhanded comment about a clone of him running about. The Boy-Who-Lived had his same eyes and mess of a hair. The facial structure was spot on, except for a remarkable old and long scar trailing down his face, which only stopped inches before his upper lip. The other visible differences rested on weight and height- predictable, really, when you thought about it. Charlus hadn't been starved on days on end and thus he had grown much more than his twin and had more body mass.

Harry glanced momentarily at his tiny form and frowned, unsure of what he was feeling at the moment. His short stature suddenly unnerved him for no apparent reason.

When Harry glanced back to the glass his twin brother had disappeared and students continued to roam the hallway to exit the train.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. Neville frowned with him, eying his slumped form with unknown intent before he let the matter drop. He let go of his hand.

"Come on, we've got to go," His friend said, being mindful of the toad in his pocket. He patted it twice to make sure his familiar hadn't gone on another escapee mission.

Harry nodded and followed him outside, musing and plotting what to say when they eventually met.

He ignored the rest of the quivering first years he passed, feeling every bit as apprehensive as them but for a whole new reason.

A booming voice broke through the cold air of the night:

"Firs' years! Firs' year over 'ere!"

The voice came from a gigantic man with a black beard covering his whole face. Harry squinted, attempting to see what was behind the mane before giving up shortly after. In the light of the night, where the only light there was nearby was the same lantern the huge man carried he couldn't possibly distinguish anything under that bush.

"Wow," Came Neville's exclamation over the height of the man.

"Wow, indeed," Harry nodded appreciatively.

The giant seemed to meet his stare for a momently and his facial structure appeared to change behind all that hair. Belatedly, Harry realized that the man must had been smiling, which explained why he had shouted, waving excitedly:

"Charlus! Yer all right there, 'ol chap?"

Harry ducked his head down, feeling his face colour with burning embarrassment and humiliation. The giant continued to call him for a moment, before _his v_ oice put an end to the man's antics.

"Hagrid, what are you doing? I'm over here."

Hagrid sputtered in utter bewilderment. Harry took his chance and slid out of the giant's sight by hiding behind Neville.

Neville disguised a laugh with a cough, finding his plight quite amusing at the moment. Harry didn't even bother to retaliate with a glare- he was just, very, very tired all of the sudden. He allowed Neville to pat his shoulder as they walked into a steep path, following the giant once he had recovered from his surprise.

"You've got to admit that it's kinda funny, Harry."

"It is," Harry uttered moodily, as he rightened himself after stumbling clumsily into a hole covered with damp mud, "Until it gets old. Then it's just irritating."

Neville didn't reply. Maybe he was put off by his horrible behaviour or just gaping in awe at the titanic castle glinting over the huge lake that greeted them as soon as they got out of the road. Either way, Harry didn't care- he was pretty much too busy gawking at it himself.

 _Sirius never mentioned a lake,_ noted Harry as he examined the lined boats floating on the coast warily. The thought of him falling into the freezing water made his heart pond with panic, as the Dursleys had never taught him to swim. Falling could be the equivalent of him drowning on the spot.

"No more'n four to a boat!" The giant called.

Neville and Harry ended sharing boats him an enthusiastic girl named Megan, who wouldn't stop rocking the boat dangerously out of excitement, and a dark skinned boy that only greeted them passively as 'Zabini'. The boy brooded silently throughout the entire journey, without glancing once in his direction, which Harry was especially thankful for, since it brought a small amount of calm into their group dynamics.

Harry and Neville had a few close calls- Megan was a bloody menace!-, but fortunately none of them fell into the water. Harry had the feeling Neville was just as glad as him over that little fact.

"That was smooth," Harry dazedly commented as he stumbled out of the boat.

"That was amazing, you mean," Megan chirped excitedly, "Did you see how the stars reflected on the lake? It was magical, magical, I tell you!"

Zabini just shook his head coolly, not bothering to stop to wait for them- Harry got the impression he was less than impressed by the girl's expressive manners.

Magical, indeed.

Neville and he shared a glance, but none commented. Megan didn't seem to mind and she went to blabber somewhere else.

The whispering crowd circled the enormous man- who Harry learnt from some gossiping folk that he was the keeper of the keys at Hogwarts- as he banged his hefty fists thrice onto the sturdy wood blocking their way.

And the gate opened without further ado.

Instead, now a stony-faced woman with green robes faced them with her stern face. Her eyes swept through the faces of the soon-to-be-first-years and promptly stopped on Harry. His skin recoiled slightly at the grim expression in her face, feeling himself grow even more apprehensive when she strayed her gaze away from him in favour of examining a rather talkative and oblivious Charlus Potter.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," The gruff voice of their guide snapped her out of her inner musings.

With lips pursed, she replied, "thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

As soon as the Gatekeeper, Hagrid, moved out of the way, the doors were pulled wide open. The whole group followed the woman through what Harry could affirm it was the most spacious room he had ever seen. Its insides did nothing to stump away his unease as his eyes remained fixed on Professor McGonagall's back.

"Wait and see the Great Hall," Hermione Granger's voice muttered excitedly into the ear of another unsuspecting fist year. "In _Hogwarts, A History_ it describes it as the largest of all the castle. The roof was bewitched to look like the sky outside!"

Harry made no acknowledgement of her comment, more attentive to where their professor was leading them to. They passed several rooms without pausing to examine their décor and soon they found themselves facing a severe teacher in a rather small chamber. Sounds of chatting and laughing resounded from a source not all that far.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," The Professor's voice smoothly made the murmuring die down instantly and the people who'd had peered about curiously soon found themselves transfixed on the woman. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Mr Potter, please follow me."

There was no doubt to whom she was calling for, but his twin misinterpreted the command all the same.


	3. One with the Snake 2

_#1 What about the Sorting Hat?_

Nothing had changed. Hogwarts was still as magnificent as ever.

A wave of melancholy swept through him as he glanced around the Great Hall. The tables, those candles, the tableware, the intricate design of the enchanted roof encasing the room above their little heads… So many memories were stored in those precious objects. The enchanted roof in particular was reminiscent of many joyful events of ancient times. Laughter, tears and determination were infused with that ceiling- suddenly, he could recall Rowena's less than lady-like screams of frustration when the runes hadn't accomplished what she had set to do originally and Helga's reassuring words of wisdom as a result.

Salazar chuckled. That had been a very interesting scene. Normally, it was Helga who raged and Rowena who was calm and collected. Nevertheless, Rowena's pregnancy had taken quite a toll in her behaviour and it had been _hilarious_ to watch. Never in his life had he been gladder of being male- and more sympathetic for the female cause.

Hermione glanced up from the floor and looked at him funny. Salazar met her curious eyes and smirked.

'This place is funny,' was all he said.

Her eyes widened in what he assumed was perplexed shock, but he ignored her reaction in favour of peering over the walking queue to see what awaited them on the other end. With satisfaction, he saw that even the Professors hadn't replaced his handmade mahogany table- he could recognize the Roman Ogee pattern even with the crappy eyesight he possessed now.

At the centre of said table, however, sat a very unworthy individual. Blue eyes, waist-length bleach-white beard, half-moon glasses and a clashing sense of style… That was the moment he first saw the appearance of the most revered light wizard of this time. Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump… The endless list of titles that Albus Dumbledore possessed suddenly flashed in his mind. And while he wasn't exactly defenceless- he was an emancipated Lord, after all-, he felt justified on the wariness that surged at the sight of the aged wizard.

Salazar quickly dropped his gaze to the ground to avoid meeting the others gaze. Every trace of amusement that was left on him slowly withered away as he grew into the realization that this person was in fact in charge of the whole castle. The one that had doomed him to put up with the Dursleys and condoned years of humiliation and suffering was in charge of the one thing he didn't regret of his previous life.

The former Slytherin swore under his breath, ignoring the startled squeak that came from Hermione. Even Neville's sandy head had turned to watch him curiously in front of him. Again, he ignored the children and stared determinedly down his feet even as they walked closer and closer to their destination…

Salazar's scowl didn't diminish in the slightest when they stopped. Even the Hat's song didn't cheer him up in the least.

That had been Godric's idea. Yes, he admitted that it _had_ been a splendid idea- even twits seemed to have their moments-, seeing that the children had seemed to like it, but now it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _Use any means to achieve their ends._ Well, that not as damning as he thought it would be. Maybe Rowena and Helga had honoured his memory as their friend as respectfully as they could after his departure. But he seriously doubted that this was Godric Gryffindor's honest opinion of his house. He was so condemning the last time he saw him…

'HUFFLEPUFF!' The Hat's voice hollered all of the sudden. Salazar jumped and blinked wildly, looking at his surroundings.

Luckily, the children around him hadn't noticed his strange reaction. They were in their little worlds, worried about their own fates at the "hands" of the Hat.

If anything, Godric Gryffindor respected everyone's individual wishes, so they needn't worry. Unfortunately, he couldn't just say that, considering that not even in _Hogwarts, a History_ that little fact was mentioned. And that was one lengthy book about the castle and its quirks (incredibly biased, though)!

His mind snapped back into attention when Hermione's name was mentioned. The girl looked back at him, looking for support. He smiled at her- painfully reminded of a kicked puppy- and gave her a discreet thumbs up.

Her fears placated somehow, Hermione marched with stiff shoulders in the Hat's direction- though her dignified front was watered down as soon as the mangy thing was covering her head and face. It took around three minutes before the Hat came to his final decision.

'GRYFFINDOR!'

Salazar didn't dare to drop his cheerful demeanour, as Hermione was still shooting anxious glances in his direction.

Poor girl.

Neville came soon enough. Gryffindor- imagine that. The boy looked like he would bolt away from his very shadow and still made into the lions. Gryffindors either had very poor standards or something else was afoot.

The Hat would sort him soon. If he remembered well, it would bypass his Occlumency without much difficulty- so there was no chance of it missing his true identity, Harry Potter or not. Salazar wondered what the Hat's reaction would be. Perhaps he should consider bargaining with it, in hopes that his memory wasn't as tarnished as he suspected it was. If Helga and Rowena had interfered with the Hat's making then that wouldn't be that hard to do. He wondered if his input in the Hat's creation could be used as leverage as well- just to have some kind of idea of where he stood.

McGonagall fetched the Hat from Sally-Anne's head and the little girl trotted away to her respective table.

This was it.

'Potter, Harry!'

Salazar reacted by reflex, already used to being called that way. He walked at a comfortable pace, mulling where his chances laid. Worst case scenario, the Hat would reveal him as the renegade founder, to everyone's disbelief. That didn't necessarily mean that everyone would buy that bit of information- he was far from being what he once was.

Legends were nice as long as they remained as ideal as they make them be.

His heart hammered furiously and rang in his ears. He sat on the stool. And the Hat fell onto his head. Salazar was preparing himself for the mental onslaught when…

The Hat yelled, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

 _What?_

His first reaction was to stay still. His eyes felt unnaturally big on his face and his heart skipped a few beats. He gaped. He did not understand-

Then he felt the anger.

McGonagall had already taken the Hat out of his head and was on the process of ushering away from the seat when everything exploded.

Shards fell from the skies- windows shattered everywhere. In retrospect, it was lucky for everyone present that they had been blown into little pieces of glass- otherwise, several people could have been impaled by the scattered pieces. As it was, the students only received a few cuts here and there, but no one ended in critical conditions.

Salazar's eyes flashed dangerously. He glared at absolutely nowhere, but he knew what had happened. His wild magic acted as a rare form of Legilimency as it prodded everywhere. Only Dumbledore's magic rested inside the Hat, making him the only possible transgressor against his person.

.

 _#2 On their way._

A train. He was going to Hogwarts by train!

Salazar didn't even bother to hide his silly grin. Hagrid's directions had been a little off, but that didn't put a stopper on his excitement. If anything, he was jumping in anticipation.

It was these rare moments that Salazar treasured. He hadn't lived the best of lives- and now that went in a double sense-, so this was his first real encounter with a real means of transport. And, no- Vernon's horrible driving didn't count. With him on the wheel you were in real danger of being flattened like a pancake against the passing trees.

Never trust Muggles and their metal carcasses.

Fine- perhaps his excitement was a little unwarranted- it was, after all, just a train-, but he really didn't care.

He pushed forward, past the gathering people at the station. It was fortunate that he had shrunken his belongings inside his pocket for safekeeping; many would-be-students were seen struggling to get theirs inside the train. Salazar also noted there were many shrilling owls complaining about their owner's harsh treatment of them and their cages, so he also considered a lucky move telling Hedwig to fly to the castle on her own. The wonders of thinking ahead.

Shaking his head at the children's foolishness, he made his way into the train. It was fairly empty so he didn't have that much of a difficulty getting an unoccupied compartment. He needed some time alone before the madness started.

And boy, did it start. Mere minutes after their departure, the bane of his school years appeared in all his redheaded glory. Even without having the abilities of a Seer, Salazar got the gut feeling that something unpleasant would come out of meeting this boy.

'Hey, do you mind? Everywhere's full.'

Ronald Billius Weasley was the embodiment of a pompous twit. His mind was boisterous, just as loud as his loose lips. The sensation was similar to having someone shoving you cake down your throat; you didn't want it, but the prat just wasn't listening.

So you could imagine that it didn't take too much for him uncover what little remained secret about himself. In his defence, the redhead had practically jumped him first chance he got, but in the end examining him thoroughly had some merits.

Like discovering how the Weasley wanted to isolate him from his peers. And what about that insignificant detail about him being Dumbledore's secret spy? Some nonsense about keeping him strictly within the margins of the Light…

Dumbledore had officially lost his marbles. Salazar had assumed that the old wizard was a big control freak from the start, but having _evidence_ of such fact was a whole another story. Now he was certain that something was brewing. He didn't like it, but for once he felt like luck was on his side.

And besides: if he wanted someone to keep a close watch on him, why pick the biggest dunderhead out of the school populous? Maybe he had too much of a high standard; maybe _this_ was the most intelligent person Dumbledore could pick. Maybe- Oh, sweet Circe, he really wished he was wrong now!

Seriously, though- the man could have at least selected someone he could have uses for. That way he wouldn't get this annoyed after only a few minutes of idle chat. But no- this boy was an unending recording. He kept associating everything with Quidditch and projecting each thought into Salazar's mind.

His eyebrow had begun twitching and the git was not even getting started.

He plastered a neutral look on his face, hoping fervently that the youngest male Weasley hadn't noticed his body's involuntary reaction.

'I've got to go to the bathroom,' was the first thing that he came up with.

Horrified, he watched as the other rose from his seat as well.

'I'll go with you.'

'No, you _stay._ ' Salazar nearly hissed. At the boy's perplexed look, he smiled, showing just a tad too many teeth.

'Don't you dare follow me,' he said.

And Salazar hurried out from there.

O.O.O.O

Slytherin uniforms, all of them. Was there an end to this madness?

Judging by the amount of people ganging on the youngest pair, they were pretty confident in their ability to intimidate others, though that could be mainly attributed to their height, which was considerably taller than their victims.

Salazar Slytherin was not one to rush into things, but that scene had stung him deeply as a person. Yes, he had held blood purity in great value, but only because he had seen what Muggles brought to the wizarding kind. Even Muggleborns, which were mostly muggleraised, represented a threat in ancient times. What guaranteed that they wouldn't turn on you once you told them all your secrets? So Salazar warned his friends, only to find them disagreeing with his reasoning. Muggleborns were cast out from the rest of the Muggles, they said. They deserve a chance, they said in a nutshell. Godric had said it differently, however; a series of misunderstandings brought apart what had been together until then.

Salazar Slytherin hadn't been evil in his past life. Misguided, maybe, but never evil. That people who had _his_ crest on their robes were picking on innocent children was unacceptable.

Moreover, there wasn't a _grain_ of cunning in their actions, just ill-intentions. Were they even aware of the fact that this blood superiority they loved to gloat about was the same kind of mirage that Hitler had pursued in the Muggle world?

Their minds were all open for him to see and they were all despicable. They made him nauseous. His entire being felt _wrong_ all of the sudden.

'-because mudbloods and blood traitors like you don't belong here. Say, Lardbottom at what age did you have your first episode of accidental magic, huh? Last I heard, your family was still deciding what to do with the Squib inside their family. Even considered placing you inside a orphanage- well, isn't that just sad?'

Graham Montague was the Slytherin spokesman.


	4. Beauty of the Wild

Prologue: Humanity is expendable

* * *

 _Veela venom is quite potent and rare_. Its sole source can only be found in the enlarged fangs of the same creature the venom received its name from, when that very same creature manifests its true nature in face of imminent threat. Due to its rarity, it's almost impossible to get your hands on a cure throughout all your life.

The poison is swift and efficient- only a few minutes after the transmission of the poison into a living being are needed for it to be lethal

The suffering the venom evokes could be compared to the _Cruciatus_.

Once the toxins are injected, the target is subjected to extreme pain, seizures and finally, after hours on end, death. However, there's the slightest chance of surviving the attack by assimilating the poison. If by this point the victim remains alive, their body cells change irreversibly, into ones of a pureblooded Veela.

Narcissa Malfoy neé Black was a one quarter Veela. Suffice to say, some traits could be possibly awakened under the right circumstances. What better, but the rush of adrenaline and bone-chilling terror at seeing her offspring being threatened by the one that offed the Dark Lord just minutes ago with the Elder Wand?

* * *

Malfoy maintained his stance, albeit a bit shakenly. The bigotry-laced mask that had been conditioned into the Death Eater after all those years of pureblooded brainwashing was gone and twisted in what could possibly pure fear and indecision. Not even a trace of that trade sneer that Harry had grown to hate after years of cohabiting under Hogwarts' roof was visible. Despite the new-found, pathetic look, Harry couldn't help but stare at him as if he were a writhing insect that had been stuck under his shoe. Malfoy had had the gall to try to take him on while he was resting after the ferocious battle between him and Tom. That was sufficient for him to seriously consider what to do with the arrogant man bending on his knees in front of him.

Harry's wand was pressed fiercely against the blond's skin, at the level of his trachea and yet Malfoy still wouldn't shut up, "Give my wand, Potter," He sneezed in a deceptively smooth voice, his eyes shifting from Harry's glaring emerald orbs and the wand he was being threatened by at the moment, clearly recognizing it as his old one, "I wasn't going to hurt you, Potter- I just want my wand."

"Bollocks!" Harry nearly yelled, catching the attention of his standing allies. He could catch the sight of a particular bushy haired friend's head jerk in his direction, being the closest of the bunch. "That definitely wasn't a simple _Expelliarmus_ , Malfoy- I don't know why you bother when I can recall that particular dark curse being cast by your little friends that are captured right here," Just to make a point, he turned his chin sideways, if only slightly as to not lose sight of him. It was clear who he was referring to since the Light had been victorious over the Dark, albeit not without some serious casualities. "Just what are you trying to do? Last I saw you, you were fleeing with your parents," A scornful expression revealed what he thought about that particular fact, "You just ruined every chance of being pardoned, Malfoy."

"Just give me the bloody wand, Potter," The blond's gaze recoiled at the harsh tone, yet his voice remained even. His hands clenched in raw emotion as he stared head on into the Chosen One's eyes.

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

That seemed to further incense the Malfoy heir as his face crunched in effort at being physically still. Any hint of evenness was long gone, "Bugger off! Just give my fucking wand! My original wand! The one you stole from me!"

A low murmuring erupted around them. Aurors were surely analyzing their every move by now, if not hawkingly. In the distance, people awaited the following events to unfold. Not another breath was taken as the Man-Who-Conquered glared down at his enemy, so the sprinting brought coming closer to his position could be heard like the boom of a cannon echoing in Harry's ears. With the rest of the Death Eaters already having been taken down in full body binds, the remaining Malfoys could only gape at the situation their son crawled his way into.

Narcissa's eyes appeared to be fixed on the unforgiving stance Harry was giving her son, as he so confirmed after identifying the offending figures. Apparently, Malfoy took advantage of that fact and reached forward and snatched Harry's hand in the course of two seconds. That amazing display of speed took Harry aback, but not even the weight upon his shoulders, product of too much magic drain, prevented him from rolling away from harm as Draco fired a silent curse in his direction.

A startled yell reached his ears, "Harry!" But he couldn't concentrate on the voice to recognize it, having to move again, else be blasted into the dirt. And so, the Chosen One's fingers wrapped themselves around the elderberry wood of the Elder Wand, with every intent of wielding it in his fight against Draco. However, he couldn't find enough time to do so, as a figure with wild hair pushed him to the ground, rolling down the mountain of dirt and debris.

Harry shut his eyes since part of the soil almost fell on them, not giving in his struggle to grip in a tight-lock the offending person that tackled him to the ground. Once the air cleared, he could glimpse what was the concerned expression of one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. Only that she wasn't even glancing in his direction, but staring unwaveringly at the person crouching menacingly over them- in the exact same spot Harry had been not so long.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but surely seeing the obsidian eyes of Narcissa Malfoy as she snarled at them wasn't it.

"I can't believe it," Hermione whimpered as she caught glance of the piercing fangs the Malfoy matriarch exposed through her lifted lips. "How couldn't I see it sooner?" She dared not move any faster than she was presently doing, as she did not intend to set the woman off with abrupt movements.

"What, Hermione?" Harry whispered back, following suit and staring unwaveringly into the abnormal display in front of him. He recognized the horror-laced exclamation and he could only hope they weren't doomed enough for them not to maneuver around danger like they typically did when situations like this stumbled across them.

"She's a Veela, Harry. She's a bloody Veela."

As if in confirmation, Narcissa growled fixedly at Harry, eyes locked with the object in his hand. The Elder Wand actually glowed in response, the magic it always exuded increasing in potency as if it actually acknowledged the threat. She recoiled slightly before advancing towards them, the duo desperately making their way backwards from her.

"Don't let her catch you, I-if she does she will turn you into threads!"

"O-Okay."

"Also, beware of her speed and fangs. If she bites you, it's game over!" Hermione yelled-whispered into his ear. This time Harry only nodded, wondering if the commotion he heard in the background was actually help being sent in or the capture of the rogue Malfoy that initiated the whole episode. As much as he loathed Malfoy and wanted him to be judged in a trial, he was hoping it was the latter. He did not dare ask what was the liquid pooling down the Veela's fangs. Instinct told him all it was necessary: it was _dangerous_.

They crushed into something hard eventually and Harry recognized it as the trunk of a tree. The crunch seemed to tense the Veela- and she practically flew onto them, jet-black claws drawn as if to slash into their skin. Harry didn't doubt it- the tree gained four long gashes across its length. The Veela stalked in their direction once more in surprising speed before evading successfully a series of well-aimed spells thrown in her direction.

With an amazing spin, the Malfoy matriarch rounded on them mid-air and aimed for their necks. Harry's Elder Wand's tip was glowing, just seconds before releasing its wrath when the claws suddenly changed direction and sliced at his wrist. Unfortunately for the young hero, the woman actually succeeded and he was forced to drop the wand to tend to his wound. Hermione shrieked in rightful indignation and blasted the creature's side with a powerful _Reducto_. To their utter consternation, the Veela wasn't even faced and she turned to sink her menacing fangs into the brunette's neck, never minding the huge gap in her flesh that Hermione left at such close range.

It all happened in slow-motion- he could see what was happening and Harry would be damned to let his friend die after accomplishing the impossible earlier that day. The whole fiasco was his fault in the first place- he would be the one to fix it, _right now._

Ignoring his deep wound, he launched himself against Narcissa Malfoy, making sure to hit her with all he got with his weight in her injury, and knocked her off her feet before she had the chance to sink teeth into Hermione's untouched skin.

Harry clenched his eyes as the Veela struggled furiously against his hold, not quite comprehending how in the world one person could possess so much strength and still being bled herself dry at the same time.

Hermione caught on, seemingly, but couldn't help but glance at him worriedly at his daring move, "Harry, for goodness sake, please don't let her bite you! On the count of three, roll away and I'll _Stupefy_ her!"

Harry only grunted his agreement, tensing involuntarily as Narcissa stopped all of the sudden. In the background, he could hear Hermione counting down- "One, two, three, Harry, move!"- but he could only stare as the Malfoy matriarch bit savagely over and over again the flesh of his left arm by his assailant's teeth.

 _Harry screamed bloody murder_ , as much as his now raw throat let him.

Somehow managing to duck in a side as Narcissa Malfoy continued to toy with his tarnished flesh, he gave a hysteric Hermione full-access to the deranged Malfoy, too much absorbed in his torment to really care. It was as if someone set his whole body on fire. His sight darkened considerably as the pain closed on him even as the Veela stopped chewing on him. Something course _through_ him quite literally and it was _melting_ him alive.

Someone kneeled beside him and something fresh and _cold_ \- thank Merlin- hit his face and rolled down his face. A bushy mane was all he could see by now and he could practically feel the scent of the person flowing freely into his nostrils, his body trembling in both unthinkable pain and physical ache for that particular aroma. He still hurt and screeched, but he could admittedly say that it felt better being embraced by this person than being confined to suffering alone on the ground.

However, the comfort was taken away from him soon. He was snatched away quickly and Harry could only protest in senseless screams, even as the familiar sobs left him to the darkness.

 _Chapter I_ _: Like a dying man_

* * *

With a touch that it was bordering in nearly heavenly, Harry Potter shivered with pleasure after so many hours of pure torture. That hand that was massaging his scalp and messing with his hair so lovingly made him want to moan and beg for more, and he would have had he had more energy left in his body. It left a delightful aroma attached to his being, somehow leaving him stoned from exposure and preventing him from concentrating on the state of his painfully cramped physique. Even so, a sharp surge of pain happened from time to time, as his left upper arm beat uncomfortly every now and then. Harry couldn't place why that happened, yet he was glad that it wasn't hurting anymore.

His fingers twitched in response to the ponding injury, causing a reaction out of the person camping by his side to watch his wake.

"Oh, Harry…" The woman to his side breathed silently, but all the same the low whimper reached the aforementioned. His ears perked up in recognition of the voice, stirring his brain in search for answers. That particular expression couldn't be from another but…

 _Hermione?_

"I am so, so sorry, Harry-! I saw what was happening and didn't react in time- I wasn't prepared! How could I, if Narcissa snapped like that all of the sudden? The signs were so obvious, though! Their hair colour, their abnormal protectiveness towards their own family, the darkening of their nails-! I just can't believe I couldn't see that! Just why did I have to fail to notice so- so- _bloody_ obvious?" Hermione choked mid-sentence, right in the middle of her pity party. Her sobs echoed all the way into his ears, making something near his heart break in desolation. He recognized her reluctance to curse- when she did, something really upsetting happened to her. Hermione's anxiousness did poor things to his body- just when he thought it was all over, his stomach turned unpleasantly. Only the emptiness of his stomach effectively prevented him from being physically sick. "A Veela, right in front of my noses… I still can't believe it!"

The only female member of the Golden Trio paused to catch her breath and hold back her tears, "I am so, so, sorry, Harry… So, so, sorry! I know I have apologised before, but I am really so, so, sorry…" She cried out finally, her speech interrupted by what could be excessive trembling, undoubtedly product of pure emotion.

Harry heard cloth rustling and suddenly both of Hermione's hands rested on top his head, tracing along his features, as if in an effort not to bear hug him like she usually did when she displayed these expressive attacks. Harry shuddered again, his eyes struggling to open. He managed to grunt softly in order to catch her attention and he succeeded as Hermione grew still and her breath caught once again, this time in surprise and relief.

"Harry? Can you hear me?"

His throat hurt, but he finally managed a weak, "Yeah…"

With no restriction whatsoever anymore, the bear hug she had retrained before was employed now. Harry winced as she held him, but dared not protest when his body ached at the strong physical contact. He gently let a hand snake upwards to rest it against her back, mimicking her previous ministrations as he drew circles onto it. In a way, it was shocking how much touching her relaxed him. He had always yearned affection as it was one of the many things that the Dursleys had denied him in his childhood, but not with this much urgency. In fact, most of the time he was reluctant to return hugs, but oddly enough- or not so much?- at that moment it felt as natural as breathing. Harry sighed in relief when she heard her laugh against his scruff- albeit it being a bit hysterical, he was glad all the same.

They shortly broke contact and drew apart as they gazed into each other's eyes. Harry was mesmerized to find her chocolate orbs glinting with a hint of honey around her enlarged pupil. With her hair being such a mess and frizzing like it wasn't taken care of for days, she looked positively wild- and tired. Those bags underneath her eyes were hard to miss, after all.

As if noticing his scrutiny, Hermione broke all free from his grip, which brought some discomfort in Harry's part, and smiled wryly, "Sorry. Couldn't sleep."

Harry nodded, throat aching for a whole different reason now. He didn't trust his voice to express his concern, but he managed by frowning excessively, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Harry. I am fine! It's you who's been in the Hospital Wing for two weeks!"

"Well," The young man grunted, repositioning on his bed, "I wouldn't worry if I could trust you to take care of yourself."

Hermione scoffed mockingly, still looking quite relieved to see him awake, "Men. What's with you and meddling where no one calls you?"

"Oh, you know… I have a certain urge to save people, you said that yourself, remember?"

It was meant to be joking, but the statement caused his friend to freeze perceptively, causing Harry to tense as well. The raven-haired youth shifted his weight nervously in bed as he watched his friend's eyes to fill with tears again.

"Ah, yes. Your hero complex. To take it to such extreme…" She whispered so softly, Harry wondered how on earth he could still hear what she said.

"Hermione…"

"No, Harry… You almost died for that stunt with Narcissa Malfoy," Hermione explained after taking a calming breath. "You almost didn't make it."

Harry grimaced at the declaration, "That bad, huh?"

Hermione's face twisted into one of rage and the next her friend knew, she was right in front of his nose, scowling thoroughly at him, "That's a huge understatement, Harry James Potter! You were bitten by a quarter Veela! Do you know what that means?"

Her victim backed off, suddenly finding himself against a wall and the Devil herself spitting at him. For good measure, Harry lifted weakly both his arms in surrender, marvelling in some small corner of his mind at the fact that he could barely feel the sting of his wound on his left arm. The other, more significant part recoiled in dismay at the usage of his full name. When it came to play, it usually meant that there was a huge told off coming soon after.

"I honestly don't know, Hermione!" He claimed disarmingly, a small hint of desperation lacing his voice.

"Honestly, Harry! Are you saying to tried to take on a transformed Veela without knowing of the consequences?!" Hermione yelled at him, so close he couldn't help but stare hypnotically at her parting lips.

"Consequences?" Harry half-parroted in mid daze.

"You-!"

A deafening slam cut her off and snapped Harry free from whatever stupefied state he had previously been in. Both tensed and turned to find the panting form of the final member of the Golden Trio, panting and puffing at the door of the Hospital Wing. Behind the redhead, both could visualize Ginny Weasley already making their way in the room, soon to be followed by McGonagall, whose stern face appeared to be pleasantly surprised at seeing Harry awake. Hermione flinched and drew further away at their unexpected appearance, to Harry's dismay. She avoided his pointed stare stubbornly, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in an honest display of apprehension as she gazed into the tiles of the floor. Having no idea what just worried this much his friend, several red flags rose in his head. At the sound of their visitor's steps nearing them, though, he had no choice but pay attention to the entering multitude, feeling strangely on edge and irritated at the same time for their unsuspecting interruption of their privacy.

Ginny, he idly noted, stood awkwardly across his bed, eying him with unhidden trepidation, but still not willing herself to do anything. Such lack of confidence was mildly concerning, but he couldn't find the time to actually voice his thoughts as Ronald Weasley was already speaking to him, "Mate, you alright?"

Harry nodded his response, allowing himself to offer them a reassuring smile, "Yeah, I'm fine, Ron."

"Are you sure, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall interjected before any further conversation could follow. "Aren't you aware of any significant changes in your… condition?"

"Condition, professor?" Harry mumbled back, frowning at Hogwarts' new Headmistress, inwardly pleading her to be more specific.

"Oh…" Professor McGonagall looked actually shocked at his ignorance, "I assumed Miss Granger had already informed you of the transition, but apparently I was sorely mistaken." The animagus didn't look particularly enthusiastic at the news, nor anyone else in the room, really. All flinched and shifted uncomfortly in place, not knowing how to proceed. The discomfort was more apparent in the Weasleys as McGonagall had long mastered her poker face and Hermione remained eerily unresponsive. Again, Hermione's behaviour unsettled him badly. "Mr. Potter, what do you know about Veela?"

Harry blinked in surprise, a foreboding shiver making its way up and down his spine, but he complied in a slow, cautious voice, "They are magical creatures with an eerily similar complexion that of a normal human… Uh, very attractive; all of them are women-" Hermione's head snapped back to attention, eyes flaring with unknown emotion. Harry paused and watched her reaction carefully, actually stopping his monologue short as he examined her closely. McGonagall had to clear her throat to make him continue, "Erm- Right- They've this allure that makes men crazy for them… Uh, that's it, I think? I've never actually researched them and until- weeks ago, apparently, I've never had the chance of meeting one at a close range…"

With every word he said, the raven-haired young man watched as Hermione slumped even more onto her chair with a defeated air around her. Harry frowned- what was eating her? Was this condition McGonagall spoke about deadly? He dreaded to know the answer, but after years of being kept in the dark he couldn't bear not knowing what was happening around him. If he was to die the next day, he thought he had the right to know.

He turned to McGonagall and fixed her with a stern look, "Professor, what happened? Hermione mentioned that being bitten was a big no before I was actually chewed on like a squeaky toy. Am I dying or something?"

The older woman pursed her lips tightly, "No, don't concern yourself about death, Mr. Potter. You are far from dying if my suspicions stand true."

Harry frowned at her vague answer, but before he could protest a familiar voice rang inside the room, "Harry, you aren't dying, but you aren't exactly yourself either."

He turned in Ginny's direction, eyes widening at the sight of her meek-looking frame. She flinched away from his piercing eyes, looking everywhere but in his direction.

Ron coughed awkwardly to dissolve some of the tension and added helpfully, "Sorry I have to break it out to you, mate, but you've been turned into a Veela."

His input did everything to mollify the situation, however. This time around, Harry offered his bewildered stare to the male redhead. His orbs felt just about to pop out of his sockets, "You have to be bloody kidding me."

Ron shook his head sadly, but didn't do nothing more.

"Harry," This was Hermione speaking, looking as drained as everyone else in the room, "You were out of it for days. The poison was literally killing you so I had to take some steps to save your life."

"Steps?" The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Hermione nodded, her expression changing into one of fear for a change. She kept looking at him with this fearful expression, as if not quite sure how he would react. His body physically recoiled at her look, hurting for some unexplainable reason.

"Y-Yeah," She nodded weakly. Far away from them two, Ginny broke down in tears, only to be comforted by her own sibling as the other duo could do next to nothing to appease her. "The Veela venom was already coursing through your veins and no one could find a cure in time, s-so… I had to- I couldn't not help-" She winced and stopped entirely before erupting in an agitated rant, "Harry, you have to understand! I couldn't let you just die! Not after finally defeating Voldemort! It just wasn't right! You couldn't- right after sacrificing yourself for me- you had no right to die after that stupid display of recklessness!" Hermione choked for a moment, "Veelas mate for life- I had to bind myself to you in order for you to survive, Harry! I had no other choice. If I hadn't, the venom would have finished you off!"

Harry froze and then reeled mentally. His mind moved slowly as multiple emotions wrestled against each other. On the verge of creating a mental battlefield, Harry could only stare, baffled, at her as she wept silently. Some part of his mind snarled at the tears and tore at his insides when he made no move to soothe his distressed friend. Nevertheless, his face remained strangely blank as he continued to observe her.

"Miss Granger," The only professor in the room stepped forward and laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder as support to diffuse the situation at least slightly, "I assure you that there wasn't any other way to save Mr. Potter's life. Please calm yourself. Mr. Weasley," She turned to the freckled male- he himself looked quite affected at the turn of events, eyes currently bloodshot and unfocused until he was addressed, "Please escort Ms. Weasley out of the room. If possible, go outside and take your sister in a long walk. You could both use a breather."

Ron pondered a bit before nodding- a simple glance at his distraught sister told him where he would be most help, "I'll see you two in a bit. Come on, Ginny."

"No! I don't want to go!" His female sibling weakly twisted away from his hold. Ron sighed impatiently and grabbed her by her shoulders forcefully, struggling to get her away from his two friends. "Ron! Let go of me!"

"Gin- please! Just let it go!"

"No!"

"JUST LET IT GO, GINEVRA!"

Ron slammed shut the humongous door of the Hospital Wing before his sister could do any more damage, cursing how the sharp nails of his sister dug into his flesh with ease as she slashed at him. The youngest Weasley's cries rose in grief the further away from the Hospital Wing she was. Ron shared her anguish, but for the sake of his best mates, he continued to push them both away.

Fortunately, the racket was significantly muffled by the twin doors closing off the entrance back inside. Instead Hermione's quiet sobs resonated inside those four walls, to the point that Harry had to speak, else be drilled alive from the inside. He couldn't help but wish he were deaf as he continued to hear the laments of his best friend- now bonded to him?- even as he spoke to Professor McGonagall.

"How bad was it?"

She caught on quickly enough, "Your heart stopped beating two times, Mr. Potter. The Healers had to use Muggle technology in order to resurrect you, but they couldn't find a way to suppress the venom. If it hadn't been for Miss Granger's input they would have remained clueless of what to do to preserve your life. She was the only one that suggested easing the transition instead of fighting the inevitable. As I recall, Mr. Potter, you had to have some kind of link to life in order to survive, an anchor, if you wish to put it into specific terms. She wasn't sure you would survive another visit of Death," The professor paused minutely for the information to sink in and only after Harry nodded mutely, encouraging her to carry on, did she continue. "That was after the first day. Miss Granger dedicated nearly twenty two hours to find something to aid you against the venom and even then the option wasn't entirely pleasant."

"Ginny wasn't available to do it in time," Hermione surprisingly cut in, dabbing at her wet eyelids. She hiccupped sadly, "And I figured you'd be more comfortable if I was the one that initiated the ritual." Finally, chocolate met emerald in a fixed gaze, her wet eyelashes contrasting with the light, "There were a lot of people willing to do it, Harry. All willing to bond to the Man-Who-Conquered- not you. Complete strangers, the lot of them. I had to fend away quite a lot of people who managed to sneak in St. Mungos," She huffed, unknowingly puffing her chest proudly at the fact. Harry could only wonder how severe it was, painfully aware of his increased popularity. "To make the story brief, somehow there was a leak and the Daily Prophet tried to attract the public's attention by claiming that only the right woman would be the Chosen One's mate and, you can imagine, a lot of people gathered in St. Mungos, claiming to be 'the one'."

Now it was McGonagall's turn to cough disbelievingly and Hermione smiled in her direction, for whatever reason coming across as grateful to Harry's eyes.

"Sorry, if this upsets you, Harry," Hermione mumbled bashfully, "but I wasn't having anything of that. We had to move you to Hogwarts to do the ritual before things got too ridiculous to handle. Ginny wasn't here- she was attending Fred's funeral, you see, and honestly, I can empathise with her, even if she'd never admit it was just too painful to hear your agonised screams for help. So eventually I was the only remaining option. We had to try three times for the ritual to be done correctly, unfortunately," Hermione shivered at the memory before carrying on. "Ron stayed around in the first two attempts, but then he had to go too.

"I couldn't- I couldn't leave you to die, so I had to at least try it. I only ask you not to hate me, Harry. Losing you would have killed me in the long shot."

Her eyes shone brightly, pleading with him wordlessly to forgive her.

"Honestly," Harry said after a long, terse silence, "I don't blame you for what you did, Hermione. What's there to blame? It's thanks to you that I'm alive right now. There isn't anything to forgive- at all, Hermione," He stopped her from speaking by raising his hand. "No, 'Mione. You have to understand. I was the one that put you in danger in the first place, so it's only fair that it was me the one that was bitten instead of you. Merlin knows that I couldn't have handled nearly as well as you did…" Harry softened his gaze as she slowly beamed at his acceptance, at first reluctantly but then wholeheartedly- his thin smile gave her the reassurance she needed. It wouldn't do to make her feel guiltier about something she had no choice in, even if he was a bit shocked about the amount of joy tickling at his insides when he saw her smile- really smile. A full-fledged grin on her face was just amazing. It made him want to jump out of the bed and hug her to oblivion. "This just demonstrates how caring you are- Blimey! This goes beyond anything anyone would do for me, definitely!"

Hermione frowned, not noticing how McGonagall retreated approvingly at the turn of events. Harry did notice, but did not spare her more than a glance in her direction as she made her exit, "Ginny was more than willing to do it, Harry," She informed him, once again worrying her lip. "She was so mad at for days- still is, I think. She couldn't believe that I hadn't owled her sooner."

Comprehension dawned on Harry, "She confronted you about it?"

"Obviously!" Hermione responded, once again huffing, "I just took away the man she loves- her ex-boyfriend! How could she not be mad at me? Honestly, Harry, I thought you knew better about how women thought!"

"But did she hex you or anything?" Harry dismissed her earlier statement entirely, his eyes darkening inhumanly so. The bushy-haired woman immediately noticed the change, and marvelled at the fact that he wasn't wearing glasses for the first time. His nostrils flared at her blush, a low growl erupted from the recesses of his throat. "Hermione, did she curse you?"

She blinked, clearly snapping out of her stupor, "She tried- Oh, Harry! What are you doing?!"

The male in question threw his covers off him and jumped to the floor, practically stalking to her, a predatory air around his frame.

"She hexed you."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Hermione frowned and was quick to deny it, "Key word was 'try', Harry-"

"Try," He repeated, his eyes pure obsidian by now. A glance at his nails revealed them to be morphing into deadly claws. His voice resounded around them, promises of pain sensible to anyone who could hear his warning. "She would have, if something hadn't prevented it," He took both of her hands into his in a tight, yet gentle and caring grip.

"I wasn't hurt, Harry," Hermione muttered, torn at revelling at the contact of his hands offered and panic at how erratic his behaviour was turning to be. The air seemed hotter and oddly relaxing- which meant, her inner analytical mind unhelpfully supplied, that some Veela hormones were being employed unconsciously by her friend. "She had every right to try, though."

"No," That was an outright roar, "Don't you ever say that, Hermione."

Hermione paused; panic positively winning the battle after seeing him snarl so openly at her response. Realization dawned on her- his protective instincts were coming through in the same way Narcissa reacted at the sight of the Elder Wand threatening her son's life. Being his mate would change their interaction deeply, despite any other facades telling otherwise. This was what Harry had been turned into and Hermione couldn't question the fact that further appearances will take place in the future.

Anything hostile to her would answer to him. Hermione didn't know if the thought excited her or terrified her.

"Harry," She murmured softly, caressing his knuckles carefully and as slowly as possible to catch his attention. She couldn't do more since his grip on her was tight and strong at the moment, "I'm fine. Ginny wasn't serious when she tried to curse me," Harry growled instantly despite her assurances, "This is Ginny we are talking about, Harry! She wouldn't do anything to me- not really. You know that… Please, calm down… Everything is fine."

The jet-black mist in his eyes retracted slightly in response to her soothing tone, a hint of humanity and emerald shining through as he regained control over his instincts. She felt him wrap both his arms around her middle possessively, but she couldn't bring herself to mind. It was quite possible that it was the Veela hormones talking, but she couldn't feel more at ease than she felt in that instant. To help him in his struggle, Hermione cooed softly, leaning closer so he felt more comfortable with his mate closer to his bulk. It was imperative that he sensed no hostility nearby and what a better way to show that than having his bonded mate touching him intimately?

Harry sighted shakenly after a minute and Hermione took that as cue to draw away from him, but not detach herself completely from him. Her hands continued with her ministrations, eliciting a moan of pleasure from him.

"Sorry," Harry apologized meekly, looking straight into her eyes. His orbs were back to normal and she had to smile at the reproachful look he was giving her when she stopped her massages. "It took me by surprise- the instincts- uh…"

Hermione nodded comprehendingly, trying to tune down the effects of the hormones he was exuding since his mild transformation, "This will be complicated. For both of us, at least."

.

 _Veelas, as a general rule, are to be bonded to the one they are destined to. It isn't a choice, per se, but a necessity, as they will definitely die without the fully accepting presence of a mate in their life. After much investigation, it was determined that their blood is essential for their bodies to adapt to the change and the lack of it causes their own body cells to turn against them and coerce their life force to be drained from them._

 _The chemical process that results in their deaths is similar to the original transformation, meaning that there's time to prevent the demise of the magical creature. However, that does not mean that the methods available are infallible._

 _There are three ways to force a bonding and only after the creature has begun feeling the after effects of their mate's rejection would it be possible to start the counter measures._

 _It has yet to be found a way to mate a Veela with a member of the same sex, so it's strongly suggested that there's a willing partner of the opposite sex to mate with the Veela in question, keeping in mind that in doing so the volunteer is binding themselves to a lifetime of commitment. Producing offspring and cutting off any other relationships are involved in the matter, as Veela are very sexual creatures, with a very keen instinct to possess._

 _The volunteer has to be conscious of these facts before even attempting to proceed._

* * *

Small and nimble, Hermione's hand snatched quickly the letter the owl was offering to her. She took little notice of the indignant barks the beige owl was screeching at her, in response to her blatant disregard of it.

Hermione's eyes were fixed on the letter.

 _Hermione,_

 _Ginny isn't available right now. She's literally all over the place helping out with the funeral, being a bloody menace over here. I doubt she registered that you had sent a letter to her yet, sorry. I promise I will try to tell her your message._

 _Until then,_

 _Ron_

"Sorry," She apologized meekly to the anonymous owl and reached for his treat. The owl huffed, but accepted it happily. The messenger took off immediately after.

She brought both hands over her face. It had become almost impossible for her to resist the urge to cry now. She felt incredibly lost. What was she supposed to do now that Harry needed Ginny's blood to take a shot at the bonding ritual?

"What am I going to do?" She asked no one in particular in a heart-breaking sob. The Owlery was strangely quiet to the sounds of her weeping. Even so she felt the weight of the accusing round eyes tracing her form, as if the animals there knew of her guilt in Harry's fatal plight.

* * *

Blood. A willing partner to mate with. A deep connection to the between the bonders. She could be the anchor to bond Harry's soul to life again. She filled the requirements perfectly. But that didn't prevent her from feeling particularly guilty as she recalled the face of her absent redheaded friends.

Not even Neville and Luna were aware of what was going to happen. They were still recovering in St. Mungos.

Merlin. She hoped they would forgive her. Neville, Luna, Ron… G-Ginny… Harry. Harry…

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall's voice broke her out of her distraught thoughts. She eyed her with worry as she took in her puffy, red eyes. "Poppy has placed everything in order. It's time."

Hermione nodded. It was time.

The Hospital Wing was the only safe haven for Harry at the moment. Heavily warded against any nosey intruders, the doors were the only thing that muffled the amount of suffering Harry was going through.

Madam Pomfrey looked every bit as tired as she felt. With dark bangs under her eyes and her dishevelled garments, she looked as Death had warmed over. Immediately, as soon as she spotted her, she jumped from the bed she was sitting in, coincidentally it being Harry's bed. The young wizard in question was bound with a powerful body bind on the floor, to keep his seizures from harming him.

Nothing had proved to be enough to muffle the screaming, though.

"All is ready."

Hermione closed her eyes and opened them with renewed determination. Pointedly, she avoided looking in Harry's direction for now.

"Okay. I'll need a bit of privacy then."

Both of the women vacillated for a bit before they agreed to her wishes. They knew she would be in the nude soon and that she no desire to let others see her so vulnerable this soon after the Battle.

Professor McGonagall stopped at the door before she informed her evenly, "there will be wards at the door that will prevent anyone from entering or hearing what is happening inside. I need to remind you, Miss Granger… You will be on your own as soon as I close this door."

Hermione knew as much, "is there a cushioning charm on the floor? Just in case Harry gets out of these ropes, I mean."

McGonagall shook her affirmative.

"Yes, Miss Granger… Good luck… To both of you."

The bang of the door made her move again. Shaking, she lifted the fabric covering her breasts over her head and let it fall to the floor. Following swiftly, her jeans deserted her and joined her T-shirt there. There were no knickers on her, no bras to cover her, nothing whatsoever. Her nipples perked, unprotected against the merciless force of the breeze flowing inside the room. The book had established a no-clothes rule. She intended to follow its instructions to a tee no matter how embarrassing.

" _Encomensio_ ," she muttered.

Magic hummed in the air and made her surroundings glow softly, as if watching closely what she was doing. Anticipation and tension rose in her throat and threatened to make her choke in her own saliva, but she eventually regained control over herself. She was vaguely aware of the fact she was perspiring bullets of sweat as she neared the centre of the room, where Harry was resting as immobile as the ropes constricting him let him.

The _Muffliato_ was straining to contain all the shrieks, tears and pain beneath it. Even now, she could hear him mildly over the soft ringing in her ears. She didn't dare lift it. Instead she knelt besides him and took the ritual dagger Madam Pomfrey had left her, leaving her wand lying on the floor.

 _Blood is essential to the Veela kind. It aids them in the transformation, their life and birth. Bonding with a Veela must involve blood exchange for it to be effective._

A simple _Diffindo_ would have sufficed, but Madam Pomfrey had insisted on being traditional, hence the dagger as it had specific runes that would aid her in the ritual. It caressed her skin dearly, as if anxious to sink its teeth on her flesh. The blade was cool against the touch and Hermione couldn't help but shiver in apprehension.

She could do this!

Her face scrunched up. Her hand stilled just enough for the dagger to cut freely into her forearm without severing any relevant arteries pulsing in there.

That didn't stop it from being painful, however.

Hermione hissed and clutched her arm in pain. She let the dagger fall onto the ground, only to bounce a few times because of the cushioning charm McGonagall had informed her about. Her blood rained over it immediately after that.

Reciting every ingredient of the Polyjuice Potion, Hermione gritted her teeth and guided her forearm to Harry's face.

The aforementioned stilled as soon as it perceived the blood dripping with both his hearing and smell and tilted his face in her direction.

Harry was indeed a Veela. He had stopped writhing as soon as she had cut herself, even though he was still in pain. Hermione wondered how long it would take for him to bite her with his fangs and begged for it not to too painful for her to bear.

"I offer my blood, my body and soul to you voluntarily," Hermione spoke through gritted teeth. Inside her chest, her heart ponded as if she had run a marathon and her lungs felt slightly winded as she felt her magic reach his. Her mouth let out a sharp breath when she felt his wrap itself around hers like a vice and they started merging with each other. His magic felt so wild… and it coated her thoroughly now. "Harry James Potter, I'll be your mate as long as I live. I offer to you my womb for you to plant your seed. I offer to you my dedication and devotion as a loving mate and mother to your offspring. I willingly and explicitly state now and for the rest of my life that I am and will be for the rest of my life yours and yours alone, as I will be severing all carnal attachments to any third parties. My life is yours if you will have me, so mote it be."

His magic swirled wildly around them and started dragging the blood droplets to Harry's mouth. He swallowed heavily with need and ecstasy and for the first time in two days she saw his eyes open wide. Only this time they weren't forest green- if anything they were pitch black. The ropes around his body rippled as he struggled against their hold. He snarled out frustration when he realized he couldn't reach her and instead glared hungrily at her naked body.

He lapped at his lips when he saw that she was starkers.

Hermione continued, not wanting to show the inner Veela just how intimidated she felt when it twisted her friend's features like that. That leer was so wrong in so many levels.

She knelt in front of him and offered her arm to his mouth, turning it so that her blood fell into his parted lips freely. Instantly, he gulped and his pale complexion regained some of his normal pigment. His obsidian pools never stopped looking at her, though. They made her shudder involuntarily. So inhuman, so _beautiful._

The witch knew that she needed to let him bite her, so she brought her arm nearer. His panting accelerated. His body movements turned more erratic as he struggled against his bonds. Hermione wasn't worried; she herself had checked the effectiveness of those ropes. Harry wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Bite me," she whispered.

 _Griffindors charge, Hermione._

Hermione shivered. That voice had sounded awfully like Harry's.

"Have me, Harry," she sobbed.

 _I don't want you to die._

This was the thrice ritual she attempted on her best friend. She pled that this was the correct one. She hadn't gathered this much of his attention before. To think this could fail…

 _Focus!_

Surprisingly, her withering friend released a long whine, looking strangely torn for being immersed in a bloodlust haze.

She heeded his hesitation with panic. The thought that somehow she had butchered this ritual too brought her arm closer, almost to the point of shoving her limb inside the Veela's mouth.

"Bite me!"

His onyx eyes stared back at her, looking utterly bewildered and worried. _Worried about what?_

"Come on! Bite me, Harry! Not the time to be noble!" She cried. Her eyes wandered about his form, looking at the purplish hues marring his skin unyieldingly. His bite mark was painfully obvious even under layers of ropes. Harry's arm was in such a state, she had to look away.

She dropped her offered arm in defeat to the floor. Hiccups and sobs shook her to the core. The female member of the Golden Trio punched the stone floor in frustration, paying no mind to her bloodied knuckles when she raised her fist for fourth time. In fact, she didn't stop until she registered the urgent yammers coming from Harry.

Defeated, she dabbed at her eyes, careless of the smeared blood on her hand or the pain of her cracked knuckles.

He didn't want her. He didn't want her as her mate. And that hurt. That hurt a lot for some unexplainable reason.

Hermione hadn't missed how Harry had been looking for Ginny in the Marauder's Map when they were on the Hunt. She'd been correct to assume he wanted her to partake the role of volunteer in this ritual.

"I need Ginny," she muttered. "It's the only way…"

Her mind plotted furiously for ways to return the redhead to Hogwarts. Surely, if she detailed what she had done and what his reaction had been, Ginny would be far more willing to-

"Her-"

She jumped and turned to gawk at Harry incredulously. He was mouthing something awkwardly, flexing his jaw in such an odd way she found herself wondering if he'd somehow gotten it dislocated without her noticing.

"Her-Meoone…"

"Close enough," she breathed.

Veela-Harry didn't smile at her comment or grimace awkwardly as she would have expected her Harry to have done normally. Instead he fixed his pitch black stare into her orbs as he tried to move his mouth accordingly to the message he was struggling to break through his unwilling vocals.

"You…" He rasped slowly, as if testing the waters. "Fine…?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Unbelievable. Even midst his Veela state Harry selflessly inquired about her health? Hermione wanted to laugh hysterically. _She was definitely not fine._ And neither was he.

"Harry…" She said and gulped forcefully to get past that knot in her throat. "Can you understand me?"

He didn't blink or react to her question, just continued to stare worriedly at her. She sighed.

"I'm fine."

Veela-Harry let out something akin to a purr and let his face relax if just slightly. Hermione felt her muscles respond to the sound, relaxing mildly as well.

"I need to fetch Ginny," she mumbled, eying him warily. "Can you wait a few minutes? I'll make a floo call and return immediately."

 _"_ _NO."_

Hermione stared at the fierce expression on his face with apprehension. She hadn't anticipated such a vehement refusal to the redhead's presence.

"Why not?" She asked rather stupidly, in her opinion.

"You… stay…" He growled.

Hermione stopped to stare at him. She somehow didn't mind the fact that this onyx-eyed version of her best friend was ogling her nude figure, but the cold was slowly but surely taking a toll on her. She shivered again, rubbing her sides with her crossed arms.

"W-Well, what do you want me to do then? You don't want to bite me and I can't help you if you don't want me to help you this way! You need a blood link at the very least to keep you going or otherwise you won't make it past the transformation-" She rambled. From the blank expression on his face, she now knew that this veela part of Harry wasn't as intelligent as she had first supposed. She breathed and paused, working herself up in order to find a solution to this whole mess. "My point being… You," she pointed at a finger at him, "need someone's blood." She lifted her entire arm up, leaving the red thick substance now trailing down her limb in plain sight.

"Neck _."_

Hermione blinked, "excuse me?"

Veela-Harry snarled and tried to tear the ropes open from the inside out again to no avail.

" _Neck,_ " he repeated. The creature turned his head to the side, exposing his bruised flesh on the left side of his neck before throwing her a pointed look in her direction.

Her mouth dropped open in a perfect round shape. As realization hit her, her eyes widened to an almost impossible size.

"You want to drink from my neck?"

Harry didn't react. It was like talking to a wall, for goodness sake!

She rose tentatively, listening to the excited panting of her ritual partner as she approached. The blackness of his orbs seemed to darken even more when she was at a reaching distance despite his bounds.

He moved, nimble, but slowly towards her pulsing arteries, opening his mouth a small fraction and letting his tongue flow freely out of it.

Hermione held her breath expectantly, grimacing slightly when she felt the wet appendage licking her skin. Veelas did that when they had a partner to feed from, she reminded herself quickly, as their saliva had the necessary chemicals to numb the pain when it came.

The weight of the entire situation fell on her suddenly. She was bounding herself to this person- Harry, her best friend- in a completely sexual way. The thought wouldn't have bothered her as much if Harry hadn't expressed his platonic feelings towards her. As much as she wished to she couldn't bring herself to mind the change in their relationship. In fact, she was rather enjoying the way his magic was caressing hers intimately, evoking sensations that no kisses from Ron had aroused- ever. What was worrying, though, was: would Harry, human Harry, feel the same way? Or would he feel utterly violated for making a reckless decision without asking him first?

Her heart grew heavy when her mind jumped to conclusions.

She didn't move away, but her mouth was moving before she was even conscious of her action.

"Harry," she called softly. She stifled a moan when his magic pressed against her and his sharp teeth nibbled on her skin softly enough not to break skin. Hermione reminded herself to focus. "Are you sure you want this?"

No answer. Not that she expected any. Instead she got a guttural sound that made her weak on her knees. The sheer possessiveness of it made her want to melt into a puddle of goo.

In the back of her mind, she realized that her best friend was buried somewhere deep inside of his subconscious. She had little to no chance of contacting his human part whilst they did this. Hermione hoped that he would forgive her.

"Harry…" she whimpered.

The Veela broke away from her momentarily to sniff appreciatively at her neck. His growl told her things he wouldn't have been able to utter even when he had been in his most sane moments. His appreciation for her scent was apparent the more he pressed himself against her.

"Harry…" she whimpered, but for a whole another reason altogether.

This was purely intimate and primitive, but she couldn't deny how _right_ it felt. He wasn't the only one aroused there. She was positively flushed and panting. Soon, she found herself clenching her legs together, inwardly wishing she hadn't bound his hands or legs.

She could smell the heavenly scent of his venom dripping from his fangs before he dug them into her bloodstream. She waited for him in anticipation and desire, involuntarily holding back her breath.

He didn't disappoint.

His fangs pierced without halting and she sucked back a scream of delight when he purred against her neck in his own ecstasy. Black spots appeared on her vision as he sucked, but she hardly cared. She was in the middle of a venom-induced orgasm.

* * *

 _Harry tossed in his bed for the fifth time in a row. He had been in bed for an hour and he still found it incredibly hard to lay still and allow his mind to fall unconscious._

 _He could smell her. He could smell her even from the male dormitory dorms. He could hear her sigh and move around in her blissful sleep. Godric, he could even hear her even heartbeat from here! How was he supposed to sleep when he grew more restless the more he listened to her?_

 _It was incredibly hard not to act on the pull that bound them together. Over the last two days, the urge to act upon it continued to get increasingly stronger; even if they had been practically attached to hip to hip from the day he had awakened._

 _Hermione had warned him of his new Veela attributes, but he found himself wondering if she truly knew the extent of his attraction to her._

 _Sure, he was somehow thrilled that he was physically stronger and that his reflexes were better than anyone inside the human scale, but the burdening appeal of desiring Hermione like this was nothing short of troublesome._

 _For instance, he had spontaneous boners. Those appeared in truly inconvenient times and always when Hermione had initiated some kind of contact with him. Even her muttering his name on her sleep was arousing. He had already given up on that matter, resigned to wank it off when he could and ignore the problem when he couldn't. Anyone from the male species would sympathise with him, he gathered; it was extremely uncomfortable. And vexing. He had never wanted her in this way and yet here he was, lusting after his bounded best friend on a daily basis._

 _His mate._

 _Harry shook his head and put a hand over his forehead in distress._

 _"_ _Harry…" he heard Hermione moan from the other side of the wall._

 _He muffled a groan of his own and tossed over to his side, wanting more than ever to crawl inside her bed and settle under her covers._

 _He felt every ounce of the creep he had forcibly been turned into._

.

People seemed torn about how to approach him when he arrived to the Great Hall. Griffindors, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins, Ravenclaws and agents from the Ministry alike watched their saviour closely, yet remaining undecided if it was indeed wise to be close to the new-born Veela at all.

Harry had expected something like this to happen. To think otherwise would have gone against all predictability and the wizarding sheep were everything but predictable. Veelas were magical creatures and as such they were classified under the titles of 'beasts'; now Harry belonged to that group and many wizards were under the influence of frivolous prejudices. Save the exceptional swooning witches, who romanticised the very nature of the creature-mate relationships, it was obvious that some hesitance towards his person was in order.

He didn't care, however. He was long past worrying about public opinion. If he'd gone and vanished the darkest wizard of their times to be received like this afterwards because of his changed status, then there was nothing he could- or he wanted- to do to sway their prejudiced ways.

 _He was still Harry. Just Harry._

Harry's nose nudged south, in direction to her bellybutton and he exhaled deeply as his hands started exploring instinctively, enticing a more needy groan from her in the process. The sound of her almost made him growl with unhidden possessiveness and desire. She smelled wonderfully- almost ripe, almost ready for…

Ready for what?

Harry froze in horrible realization as his mind registered how his member twitched awake, pressing at her backside as she slept on, unaware of the massive hard on he was having because of her. The mental image of Hermione with a swollen belly flashed across his mind rapidly. Impregnating her was suddenly a major turn on for him, to his revulsion and liking.

Harry had to quietly disentangle himself from her, in fear of raping her in her sleep if this kept on.


	5. Spoiler One with the Snake

'Hello, Barty.'

Imposter-Moody never had a chance to react or deflect his stunner. Another sign of the Death Eater's faulty acting. The real Moody would have seen it coming. Not Barty. The lad was a complete amateur in controlling Moody's spiral eye and Salazar had taken advantage of that little fact. His surveillance had several blind spots and it had cost him dearly that crucial day. Fortunately, the ingested Polyjuice would only last for so long. In forty minutes, give or take, it would wear off and people would see the man for what it was: an escaped convict who had successfully hidden his death to the Ministry. Discovering Barty inside of Hogwarts would be another low blow to Fudge's incompetent administration and it would unsettle Dumbledore in one single move.

Sirius and his father would be proud.

Salazar dumped the body bound and gagged in Dumbledore's office, where it was bound to be noticed sooner or later. No portraits disturbed him with their presence, courtesy of his parents' intervention (he wondered what kind of distraction they had pulled off this time around- to be able to draw away the Headmaster's portraits, it had to be noteworthy). The six low-powered stunners that he had cast on Barty would guarantee him an unconscious prisoner for at least twenty four hours, if the man didn't receive medical attention first, which he sorely doubted.

He glared at the stone gargoyle as he passed, daring him to go snitching on him to the Headmaster again. The statue gulped, understanding the significance of such gesture, and nodded briskly.

Salazar huffed and confounded it. Just in case.

The last task had to go according to his plan.

* * *

Barty's mind had been resistant to his Legilimency, but not triumphant during their standoff, which is why he had an inkling about what would happen as soon as he touched the Cup. Which is why he couldn't let Cedric Diggory stand between him and the Cup.

'Thank you, Harry,' said the relieved Hufflepuff champion, trying to stand up.

'Don't thank me, Cedric,' Salazar replied, gently pushing the young man back into the ground. Away from them both, a stunned Victor Krum snored peacefully, hopefully not under the effects of the Imperious anymore.

Cedric threw him a bewildered look when he realized that Harry Potter wasn't helping him out now. A quick glance into his sombre emerald eyes had him on guard again. Such a shame- had he had in his hand his wand, he could have defended himself when Salazar threw his silent stunner.

Not a backstab, but a betrayal on his part all the same.

'I'm hardly the Light wizard you think I am.'

* * *

The Cup. The Portkey. The Tournament. The Maze. Cedric. Now the Graveyard.

Salazar blinked wildly to clear his eyes. His obscure surroundings seemed to suck the light off the poor light the clouds let pass their masses.

Around him, fancy tombstones stood erected, each representative of the dead, oozing that distinctive air of eeriness reserved only for those beyond the veil. The graveyard swarmed with magic; his breathing sizzled in the cold air sweeping into his bones as he hurriedly tried to get on his feet.

Voldemort was around there. He could feel it.

As his gaze wandered over the place, his eyes felt magnetically attracted to the highest statue within sight. Empty sockets stared him down from above; the statue of death glared to anyone disturbing his realm- surreally fitting for the situation, if only those accusing holes were pointed to certain someone else. His memories threatened to be stirred the longer he stared into the skeleton's form, but he soon found himself enraptured.

A sudden rustle in the distance snapped him back into attention, followed by the slightest of whispers. Salazar swirled around, but not fast enough.

'Desmaius!'

The flash of light hit him directly in the chest and immediately Salazar felt the air being knocked out from his lungs. Like a puppet being cut from his strings, his body fell submissively onto the cold dirt.

'Excellent, Wormtail! Now bind him and proceed with the ritual!' Hissed the bundle in the arms of the quivering traitor.

'A-as you wish, Master!'

Salazar felt his body being embraced by something with a harsh texture before being forcefully pushed up in the air. His feet hovered over the ground, useless as lead now. He both mentally berated himself over his carelessness and congratulated himself for thinking ahead- again- and having put up so many wards in his person before this. Otherwise he knew for certain that right now he'd be unconscious by then.

'Harry Potter,' rasped the purring voice of the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort. He forced himself to lie limp, in guise of being out of it. 'In the flesh and bone. I'm truly pleased with your joint efforts, Wormtail. For once, my followers seem to be competent in their endeavours. Yes… I'm pleasantly surprised this once.'

'T-thank you, M-Master…' whispered Peter Pettigrew. Voldemort hissed his annoyance.

'Why are you dawdling, you fool?! Start the ritual! Be sure to wake him up in order to extract his blood, or you'll face my wrath! I want to see his eyes as he realizes what happened!'

Wormtail whimpered something. Salazar's ears couldn't catch it, but he didn't care. His thoughts reeled, seeking, looking for a solution. A familiar scent met his nostrils and he grimaced. Blood, guts and scales were mixed in a potion he had only recalled being used by Morgana herself- and she was the creator. Others in history had been too repulsed, too queasy to use such a grotesque and unstable ritual.

But his bloodline _had dared_.

White fury coursed through his veins. Black spots appeared in his vision because of his volatile emotions.

There was a resounding splash. That's when he realized that Voldemort had been thrown into the cauldron.

'Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son!'

Salazar's eyes refocused on the scene before him, careless of giving away his awakened state. A dark sneer marred his young face, the revulsion plain for the others to see. He saw Wormtail magically lifting Tom Marvolo Sr.'s remains out from his grave and tossing it into the bubbling liquid. The fumes that resulted from the mixture made him want to vomit.

Coward Wormtail slashed off his wrist and hand into the cauldron's contents.

'Flesh — of the servant — w-willingly given — you will revive — your master,' Pettigrew panted, weeping and in pain. Said servant rolled in the dirt as he lamented quite loudly the loss of his right hand. Salazar watched him impassively, doing his best to ignore the odour surging from the confines of the ritual's recipient.

Blood loss was too much of a benevolent death for this individual.

Salazar didn't even blink when the balding man turned to face him. With tears in his eyes and shocked because of his discreet awareness, Peter Pettigrew looked every bit of the pathetic man he had grown to be. The dagger, the one he had used to cut off his own flesh, gleamed with bloodlust in his hand. Salazar looked at it idly and wondered where they had bought such a nasty-looking blade. He turned his emerald stare to the shaking fiend.

'Your death won't be swift,' he whispered. Pettigrew took a step back in surprise. 'May you forever suffer because of your cowardly ways, Peter Pettigrew.'

Wormtail approached him with fearful eyes, raising the dagger clumsily.

'B-b-blood of-of th-the e-enemy, for-forcibly take-taken, y-you wi-will re-resurrect yo-your fo-foe!'

'I give my blood voluntarily.'

Wormtail froze momentarily, as if stunned by his calm demeanour, before he dug the blade into his forearm. Salazar hissed at the penetration. A ghost of pain prickled in his scar, where the Horcrux had been, when the coward dropped his blood into the cauldron.

Flames instantly devoured the flimsy dark metal and dark clouds cloaked the foetal form that surged from the cauldron. This new form writhed and screamed inhumanly as its skin tissue reconstructed itself.

Pettigrew yelped as he jumped away from Voldemort. His screams took a higher pitch when the pain of the ritual began to set in.

Salazar experienced a similar discomfort, product of being a participant in the ritual- willing or not-, but forced himself to remain upright. With Pettigrew distracted and mildly delirious from the pain, Salazar forced himself to transform into his snake form. The bonds, which were designed to constrict human limbs only, immediately released his slender form and Salazar plummeted onto the ground ungracefully, coiled at first from pain.

He forced himself to look up. Voldemort was still regenerating and there still weren't any signs of him butchering the ritual. He didn't allow himself to panic and in his induced pain state he transformed again. His eyes squinted, catching sight of the wooden sticks Pettigrew had stored in his pockets.

'Accio!' Salazar exclaimed.

Peter shouted in surprise as all three wands flew towards the Chosen One, his only hand grasping air because of his rusty reflexes. Salazar didn't even give him time to blink; he stunned him as soon as he had all the sticks in hand. He didn't even glance to see if he was using his own Beech wand.

A deafening shriek. Pain. Salazar gasped and leaned against the Death statue so as not to fall onto the ground again. Voldemort was now experiencing the first drawbacks of his ritual. Salazar moaned. This would have been loads worse had he still had the Horcrux in his head.

Sounds of flesh tearing apart reached his ears and Salazar cringed- not in sympathy; never in sympathy. His head pulsed and threatened to explode from sheer pressure, but somehow, his skull managed to endure the pain. Unconsciously, Salazar's magic core began to reject the ritual, putting a lid over how much magic it'd offer to its completion. More ghastly sounds followed and Voldemort continued screaming.

Except, at some point, he stopped. Everything stopped out of the blue.

The sudden silence was- no doubt- eerie. Salazar's relieved pants rang in his ears. From Voldemort, the only whispers of sound resembled just whimpers, except that they weren't. Unrecognizable inhuman yowls, those were.

Salazar examined with morbid curiosity the malformed creature lying on the ground.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had become something beyond human during his years of greatness- well, now his appearance matched his personality. Its legs and arms were barely recognizable- out of four limbs only one resembled something akin to an arm, attached by feeble muscles only- the limb overall, on the border of collapsing. Its torso was had distributed its unfinished growth in a manner that was most strange: one side, completely regrown to its adult size; the other crumpled down three sizes. Voldemort's current skull was… utterly distorted, for the lack of a better word.

And this was why that ritual wasn't done. _Unstable. Unusable_. His heir wouldn't be able to perform any kinds of Black Magick on the innocent now. He doubted that he'd even last his first hour on that new body, judging by the way Voldemort gasped for breath.

'Okay,' Salazar breathed. This was what his bloodline had been reduced to. How… deplorable and terribly humbling.

'Harry Potter…' it gasped. Or Salazar guessed it did. What the creature pronounced was nothing more than senseless gibberish because of its misshapen jaw.

'You did a lot of evil to the world, Tom,' he whispered. His boots thundered in the deafening silence as he neared the last descendant of Slytherin's line. He ignored the way the creature stirred at the sound of its name.

'Potter…!'

'You are horribly demented, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Creating Horcruxes for the sake of never dying? Don't make me laugh. What kind of immortality were you hoping for? The one you lived on top of the world? Ruled over Purebloods and Muggleborns to the end of times? Naïve, that's what you are.' Salazar eyed his new form in disgust. 'Pathetic.'

'H… ow…?'

'Doesn't matter how. I don't give long-winded speeches to the undeserving. Only explanations.' Salazar barked. 'You condemned yourself to this. And no. I won't let you become a wrath again.'

'Y… You… c…can't ki…ll… me…'

'Oh, I won't kill you.' A mischievous smile curved his lips. 'You see, there's something else you may have overlooked in your glorious search for immortality, apart from the madness that comes from creating a Horcrux and consequently the unavoidable deterioration of your mind, that is. You see… a Horcrux only saves the owner from death once the heart stops beating.'

Voldemort only gasped for air. The only eye visible stared Salazar down from its socket. Apparently, Voldemort didn't know where he was going with this. That wasn't a problem. In time, he would understand.

'Meaning… I just won't let you die,' Salazar smiled.

The reality of the situation seemed to hit his nemesis as his breathing became more and more erratic.

'But first, I need information. Legilimens.' And Salazar plunged into Voldemort's mind.

He was in luck. The former Dark Lord's mind was in chaos, with no hint of Occlumency protecting the broken wizard's thoughts and memories. However, victories like these were always bittersweet and the Dark Lord's memories were chaotically disorganized at the moment…

 _A young Tom Riddle stood over the corpse of Myrtle Warren, his dark sneer descending over the still twitching body. The girl's eyes, which had been so filled with surprise and horror moments ago, were blankly staring up the roof._

 _'Good riddance to bad trash,' Tom chuckled. His Basilisk hissed its amusement, long tongue sweeping through the commissures of its mouth._

* * *

 _'You are a fool, James Potter. Foolishly putting your life in line for a mudblood and a child without even having your wand within reach.' Voldemort's finger's tapped on his own Yew wand, not bothering to hide his delight at having cornered them at last._

* * *

 _'Shall I devour her?' The magical creature hissed._

 _'Leave her be for now. I want to see how Dumbledore reacts to the murder of a student inside his domain. I can always pin the blame on another,' Tom responded between hisses._

 _A flash of red tinted his eyes when he glanced at the diary he was clenching in hand._

* * *

 _Again, he felt that sensation. He felt lighter, as if something had been torn from his chest. Tom wasn't worried. He knew the theory behind the creation of Horcruxes. Besides, splitting his soul had been utterly exhilarating this time around._

 _The look his father had had when he had cast the spell had been priceless._

* * *

 _That filthy Muggle tramp. How dare she touch him like that? He'd show her tonight what happened to those who opposed him. Yes… He would make her death slow. Maybe even take advantage of the situation. After all, Samhain was around the corner…_

* * *

 _"Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone!"_

* * *

 _'NOT HARRY! LEAVE MY SON ALONE!'_

 _'Step aside, girl! Step aside!'_

 _'Kill me! Not Harry! You can do anything to me, but please, please leave Harry alone!'_

Salazar clenched his head. His eyes had involuntarily filled with tears as he witnessed first-hand how Voldemort jabbed his wand at Lily Potter with the Killing Curse. Next, he witnessed himself staring innocently into Voldemort's eyes. He felt Voldemort's smugness as if it were his as he raised his wand anew to finish his job…

'His notebook, Gaunt Ring, Rowena's diadem, Helga's cup, my locket, me, Nagini…' Salazar muttered, eyes vacant. He paid no heed to Voldemort's vain squirming since he was purposely being forceful in his Legilimency. He turned his gaze back into the monster's eyes, another ill intent present in mind now.

'Seven Horcruxes in total. No more or less. Seven bloody Horcruxes,' he spat.

Salazar Slytherin often prided himself in being a cool-headed Legilimencer when the need arises, but the situation had him so emotionally charged that he had no second thoughts at slamming his mental shields against Voldemort's non-existent ones. The force of the mental assault alone made the former Dark Lord visibly blanch away with a shriek, but Salazar wasn't stopping there. He charged again with gritted teeth.

Almost mechanically Salazar projected his mind into Voldemort's. Again. And again. And again.

Seven times overall he charged.

Tears trailed down Salazar's cheeks. With each slam, he could see hundreds of faces eyeballing him in horror. _Voldemort's victims_. _They are far too gone to be of any help to them now,_ his mind gently reminded him. That inner voice sounded too much like Hermione's for his liking _._

With an abrupt jerk, he pulled away from Voldemort's destroyed mind one last time. He took a few moments to regain his strength as he had fallen to the ground on his bottom, arms and legs feeling strangely flaccid.

Deep breaths. In and out.

Even without looking, he knew that Tom Marvolo Riddle was less than a broken doll now. Gone in mind and body, yet not in soul. The bastard wouldn't be a hindrance to anyone in this state.

In and out. _Calm yourself._

It took a while, but he finally managed to actually do it. His mind reeled, eyes vacant as he assessed the situation again. It was then when he noticed a major flaw in his plan.

 _I took care of Tom, but not of his followers. And knowing them, they will only find another whiny preacher to flock to and continue with this pureblooded madness._

Salazar's eyes suddenly flashed with newfound determination. He forced himself up, absentmindedly lifting Voldemort's body with a wave of his hand once he was upright.

The revived founder deliberately hid his Beech wand beneath his tournament clothes. He would only need Voldemort's for now.

'Well, that's that,' the ancient founder whispered. Next, he put the broken wizard on a strong stasis charm and began burying him in the same hole that Tom Marvolo Senior was resting. The help of his wand certainly accelerated the process.

When he was finished there was no sign of Voldemort even being there.

Perfect.

'Okay. Time to put into good use those ghastly memories of yours, Tom,' Salazar whispered. What he was going to do now was incredibly risky- and sneaky. A bizarre combination of Slytherin cunning and Gryffindor impulsiveness.

He hoped that his mind wasn't too addled by his previous mental exercise.

First, Salazar approached Wormtail, ignoring the foul stench of his soiled pants and obliviated him of the recent events. Instead, a fictional ritual- which still involved his hand being cut off and being so terribly scared that he resorted to losing control over his bowels - was implanted into the balding man's head.

Salazar nodded, satisfied with his handiwork and waved a hand over his eyes with a muttered spell. It was a colour changing charm- first year, just enough to fool overconfident purebloods- that made his eyes shine bleeding crimson. He cast an Imperturbable charm over the other- just in case- and turned to revive the traitor after returning his wand into one of his pockets.

Even if he wanted to turn Peter Pettigrew to the authorities, he had to plan things carefully. With Fudge in charge, there was no telling if Sirius would ever receive a trial with that particular administration even with undeniable truth. As such, he needed Wormtail near until the time was right.

And what better way to guarantee that than putting on a show?

'Enervate!'

Pettigrew sputtered, his beady eyes looking around wildly and then wincing when the pain of his amputated hand regained his attention. But that grimace was nothing in comparison to when he saw him.

Wormtail visibly blanched. Salazar knew what he would see: Voldemort's red eyes on Harry Potter's young face. He wondered if he was mildly bothered by that fact; James Potter's face being tarnished by what he assumed was the most frightening set of eyes he had laid his eyes upon. He hoped he was. He hoped that guilt crawled all over Pettigrew's mind.

'M-Master…'

'The ritual went perfectly, Wormtail,' Salazar said. He allowed himself to offer the terrified man a small smirk. 'Harry Potter's asleep now.'

Pettigrew stuttered. He didn't look any more relieved than before.

'Your arm, Wormtail,' Salazar commanded.

Those small eyes of his widened to the size of pans.

'Master…' he said adoringly. 'Master…'

Salazar sneered at the non-existent offered hand, which symbolized yet another treason to the House of Potter.

'The other! Give me the one with the mark!'

Wormtail whimpered and raised it slowly, trembling. Impatiently, Salazar shoved the tip of the wand into Pettigrew's mark. The silent scream his "follower" released from such action startled him slightly, especially when the mark started to animate itself on his skin. Voldemort once again proved to the world how much a heartless bastard he had been.

'Let's see how many of my followers show up,' Salazar drawled with an underlying mocking connotation when he was finished. 'How many are still loyal to the Pureblood cause. How many still bow to Lord Voldemort.'

Next to him, Wormtail whimpered, clutching his arm and bowing his head.

Not much later, they saw the first signs of someone apparating to their location. People with trademark Death Eater robes and masks stepped out from the black mist his magic had conjured during their Apparition.

Many gasped when they took in the sight that awaited them.

Salazar smirked, recalling that Voldemort liked to stroke his wand in a certain way. He imagined that for many the sight of Harry Potter behaving just like his Lord was a bit overwhelming, but for him it added spice to the entire situation.

'Ah, my friends! I see many of you still haven't deserted me.' He exclaimed, rather dramatically. He had to suppress a snort when his public stilled in comprehension. 'Take off your masks! I want to see my loyal followers' face.'

Reluctantly, the Death Eaters reached for their masks and slowly removed them. Only one remained unmoved, staring defiantly underneath the security of his anonymous identity. Blond-silver strands poked out from the hood. Lucius Malfoy, he was sure.

'Potter, my Lord?' The Death Eater asked, voice raspy.

Salazar waved his hand dismissively, performing wandless magic in front of all his enemies for them to see. The silent Diffindo knocked aside the infuriating mask and scratched the blond's cheek in a deep pattern. To his defence, Lucius merely blinked at his forceful means, in contrast to the sharp breath intakes the others let out.

'Is there a problem, Lucius?' Salazar let his smirk grow ever so slightly, dangerously close to being an ominous smile.

Lucius Malfoy shivered involuntarily at the dark look.

'None, whatsoever, my Lord.'

'Ah…! You say that yet you stand so still,' Salazar said. He strode leisurely in the Death Eater's direction and it was with great pleasure that he traced the tip of his wand across the other man's jaw. 'Aren't you glad that your master returned after all this time, Lucius? Why the hesitance? Possession is an art we are both aware of, no?'

If possible, the blond's already deadly pale complexion whitened even more.

'Indeed.'

'I heard many interesting things from Wormtail so far,' Salazar began, almost purring. Oh, payback was sweet. 'Something about a monster and the Chamber of Secret's during Harry Potter's second year. It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain something I entrusted you so many years ago… would it?'

The silence was telling.

The Death Eaters quivered in apprehension.

'You will be staying with me after this, Lucius,' Salazar hissed. He couldn't manage an enraged expression, but the sweet smile he had plastered on his face was unsettling the Malfoy head without much effort on his part all the same. 'I'll assign a specific task for you.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Lucius whispered.

'Good,' Salazar gripped his face hard for a moment before slowly letting go.

Intimidation was key.

'That said, let us examine what we've got here. I see that not all of you have returned to my side. Who is a traitor and who is imprisoned? Barty Crouch is accounted for, so don't bother.'

One of the most daring – or more stupid- Death Eaters stepped forward. Voldemort's memories supplied him the identity of the man and to his surprise it was Crabbe Sr. He hardly looked as mentally challenged as his son.

'Bellatrix is in Azkaban. Several of us are there, in fact.'

'We'll take care of that little fact soon,' Salazar said. 'As soon as we find the rest of what remains of Lord Voldemort.'

All of them stilled.

'What did you say?' Malfoy muttered, reaching for his wand. Several followed his example. Salazar fired another Diffindo in Lucius' direction- this time, his wrist. He didn't cut it off, but another Diffindo would do the job with ease and Lucius knew it. The blond vainly tried to stop the blood flow with his other hand with lips so pursed they mixed with the rest of his skin because of their lack of blood circulation.

'Ah… Lucius. You must know that I am not at my full power yet. And this is interesting: do any of you know anything about Horcruxes?'

Lucius was instantly on alert.

'Potter…!'

'Potter is dead, Lucius. You are all but talking to a soul fragment of your Master. Know your place or you'll find yourself lacking a hand soon enough!'

Silence. All their eyes were fixed on his. Salazar knew this and he touched himself on the forehead where he knew that his scar remained. A faint glamour made it seem incredibly irritated, contrarily to its true appearance, which was so faint it you had to squint to see it.

'What do you think this is?' He purred.

Their jaws dropped.

'But how…!'

'Impossible! A living Horcrux?!'

Salazar's smirk widened. 'Indeed. The true path to immortality. Such a magnificent outcome this is, isn't it? Harry Potter, Dumbledore's Golden Boy, my very own Horcrux. He'd never expect it. Which is why I need the rest of me. Both of us can plot the old goat's demise at our leisure.'

All Death Eater's eyes were entranced by the thought of two Dark Lords, eyes glazed and hopeful. Lucius hissed his pain in the distance, still at the mercy of his own blood loss, just like Wormtail.

Speaking of whom…

'Wormtail.'

The fat man was startled into attention. His pale skin bleached white when he saw him looking at him.

'Come here.'

It was an overly hesitant rat animagus who creeped towards him, lagging slightly the closer he got. Salazar waited patiently.

'Kneel before me,' he hissed when the wizard was in front of him. The balding man complied and rested both his knees on the cold floor. He was quivering slightly, which was getting terribly irritating with time. 'Give me your hand.'

'My Lord?' Did the man have no vocabulary in his speech? Or was this the shock of the supposed ritual setting in?

Keeping in mind to be dramatic, Salazar exclaimed: 'You will be rewarded, Wormtail. Out of everyone, you were the one to find the truth behind Potter's scar. Give. Me. Your. Hand.'

The tension could be cut with a knife.

Slowly and trembling still, Wormtail gave him his handless hand. He didn't want to perform Dark Magic in such a lacking pawn so instead he transfigured a rock into flesh and attached it to the rest Wormtail's limb. A resounding gasp around him guaranteed him the attention of all present.

'If you betray me, Wormtail, your hand will rot,' he whispered, but Pettigrew was nodding frantically, looking only at his new hand and marvelling at the absence of pain.

He shushed him away with the other thanking him profoundly. And so, Salazar turned to the bigoted individuals that had made this society so much pain for decades on end. He gave them a hard look that was nothing but sincere, though he concealed the loathing behind his luminous eyes meticulously.

'Track down my other self and you may be rewarded generously, for Lord Voldemort will always appreciate his most loyal followers. Do not attempt a breakout in Azkaban just yet. Bella will be released soon enough, along with Dolohov and the Lestranges. Too many have been under the mercy of Dementors for so many years. I'll take care of the deserters during the summer,' cue to evil feigned laughter. Soon, the others began laughing along with him until he grew tired of this charade. 'You are dismissed! Lucius, Wormtail, you will stay here.'

One by one, Voldemort's followers began popping out from the Graveyard until he remained with the injured Malfoy and the coward Pettigrew. He turned to Wormtail first.

'You'll stay near Hogwarts for the rest of the year and act as a messenger for me. If you are spotted, you'll regret it severely.'

'U-understood!' The former Marauder nodded, already on edge because of his red stare.

'Lucius, you will contact Severus and determine whether he's on our side or not. I have reasons to doubt his loyalty to our cause.'

Malfoy nodded, 'It will be done.'

'You will keep Wormtail updated of everything that happens. Do not fail me.'

'We won't!' 'Never, Master,' said the two in a synchronized chorus.

Salazar nodded, satisfied and tired at the same time. He couldn't let it show, however, so he strode purposely to the fallen cup, aware of the fact that two Death Eaters were still in his presence.

'Well, then. I suppose that I will celebrate my victory,' Salazar laughed. Tiredness swept into his bones; his magical core was almost drained. He had to leave.

The Slytherin-turned-Potter looked back, threw a smirk at the remaining people in the Graveyard and touched the Portkey.

He lost consciousness as soon as he touched the ground on the other side.


	6. Dance with the Dragon

Small excerpts that I wrote based on Man vs Beast; author: Gwynne

* * *

The chase was on.  
Hermione's pulse rang in her ears. Some kind of prey instinct made her turn once she realized that there was no way out of Harry's room. Save for the magically closed off window, there were no possible escape routes.  
The Dragon knew that. She saw him form a triumphant smirk at her helplessness, his movements nimble and confident as he approached with an animalistic certainty. Yet his steps were deliberately slow. Even now he teased her when he had her cornered and defenceless.  
Run. Where could she run? Away from him? Where to? Did she even want to?  
A spark of something flashed in Harry's reddened gaze. It unsettled and excited her at the same time. Her moist entrance throbbed with need- need of him-, yet she wasn't sure what to do in this situation.  
Harry inhaled a long sniff in her direction, followed by what could have been referred as a growl of frustration. Hermione gulped. Her arousal was both seductive and unwanted now to Harry's senses. If what Willoughby had said in his book stood true for the half dragon wizard, then what he was looking for was a struggle for dominance. That she was content with him claiming her went against every instinct his dragon side had engrained into Harry Potter's psyche.  
"Hermione," he growled, the sound so guttural, so other, it made her skin jump in anticipation. He took a step towards her. And another. Soon he would be in front of her. His darkened eyes made her step back involuntarily until her back met the plain wall behind her. That reaction made Harry grin wickedly. "That's it. Make it difficult. Resist."  
If anything, that had the opposite effect. Bare and unprotected, Hermione never felt more ready for him. Her nipples perked to attention and the throbbing of her pussy increased in force. She itched to come forward and meet him halfway in a passionate frenzy, but she didn't. She wasn't the brightest witch her age for nothing.  
So instead, she pushed backwards, into the stone wall surrounded them, and whimpered. It wasn't a fearful whimper, per se, but it wouldn't denote her eagerness to what was to come. She comprehended what the dragon sought and she would be damned if she missed another chance of making love with the life of her life because of some silly mistakes.  
The contradictory behaviour and smell made Harry pause to look at her. She met his eyes, almost defiant, but quite conscious of the oncoming outcome of their confrontation. She knew that even through the dragon's control Human Harry could read her intentions.  
Yes, she would give her all in this. No, she wouldn't "win". Aided with his super strength and the dragon's innate magic, Harry would take her despite what she did. And she would enjoy every bit of it.  
With that final decision, her eyes sought for Harry's wand. Discarded and forgotten by the possessed wizard, it was still on the nightstand. If she moved quickly, there was always a chance she would actually grab it…  
Tension stilled the air inside the room. Hermione's chocolate orbs locked into Harry's unnatural crimson for a second, then she jumped.  
Almost synchronized, Harry made a grab for her. Months of Horcrux hunting and battle experience made her twirl around his outstretched limbs before she lunged for the Holly wand. As soon as her right hand clasped around the wooden surface, she had to duck. Harry had swiped at her- not with claws, but with his own bare hands-, but she knew that had she remained still it would have been game over. Hermione ducked to the side again, this time bringing her wand up against Harry's neck. Panting and sweating with exhaustion, she half-heartily glared at her will-be mate, daring him to make a false move.  
"I win," she gasped.  
A dry chuckle burst out from Harry's lips. "I can't wait for when you grab my other wand, mate," the Dragon growled lewdly. "I will make it enjoyable for the two of us when I start pumping into your warmth- fuck you senseless for hours until you can't move. When I finish with you, you won't be able to walk the next morning."  
A shiver tickled her whole being, her skin breaking into goosebumps. Her grip slackened for just a moment, but it was enough. In the blink of an eye, Hermione had been thrown against the bed and straddled by his body weight to such degree she couldn't do anything against his hold. Regardless of that fact, she kept twisting- in vain. Harry groaned approvingly when her knees pressured against his steadily growing groin. Hermione flushed from head to toe when she felt the full extent of his length again. Her body screamed at her to keep going or they would lose the moment and she wanted this- no, she needed this.  
"Harry, don't you dare-!" She didn't finish her sentence, because she would have screwed up if she had. Encouraging him wasn't going to make him make her his.  
"Oh, I will dare." He lapped at her lips, his hands roaming feverishly, testing how her skin reacted against his touch. She kicked at him and he growled possessively. "In fact, I will dare multiple times. You're mine," he said. The voice was a tad too inhuman to her liking, but she didn't complain, truthfully that is. "You are mine, Hermione Granger! My mate!"  
YES! Yours! I'm only yours, Harry! Her soul cried out. Meanwhile, her body flung her fist out from his grip and punched him, as hard as she could in such an uncomfortable position. Her nails scratched his back with sweet vengeance, leaving raw trails of fresh scars each time she dug them into him.  
Unexpectedly, Harry shifted his weight and suddenly both of her hands were being held by only one of his hands. The other made haste in his own undressing, mindless of the fact that his claws had teared at his clothes into bad shape in the process. His pants dropped to the ground and he kicked them away from the bed, growing even more erect when his undergarments came into view. The layers of clothes proved to be too much of an annoyance for the mated half-dragon, as he ripped them apart with a deafening snarl and tossed them uncaringly over his head.  
Hermione stared at him wide-eyed, swearing that his teeth seemed pointier than before. Anticipation rose in her body. Finally, after all this time, he was going to officially mark her as his.

* * *

Once the shock and surprise faded, Harry practically glided towards her.  
His mate started, clearly not expecting him to wrap his arms across her abdomen with so much need. His crouch pressed pleasantly against her bum, emphasizing how dearly he'd missed her since he had found no Hermione midst their sheets.  
"Someone's happy," Hermione chuckled and touched his hands tenderly. She craned her neck slightly to the side and gave him a peck on his neck.  
"You've got no idea," he groaned. Her smell was intoxicating, in so many ways he couldn't possibly decipher. His dragon was practically purring inside of him and he wasn't so sure that the sound hadn't carried to the outside world.  
By the mild smirk Hermione's face supported without any remorse, that much was practically a guarantee.  
"Missed me? It's only been three hours since I last saw you."  
"How did you get away without waking me up?" he asked, voice rough. That was what bothered him most. With his heightened senses and whatnot he should have known the instance she had left their sanctuary. The dawning horror of having missed her awakening was a rather rude way to start the day.  
"Silencing charms," she laughed softly, "Special version," she amended, winking.  
He growled in dissatisfaction. Hermione's research was an obstacle sometimes. Blinding one's senses when you were a part-dragon was no small feat.  
"If it makes you feel better, I didn't want to get up this morning."  
"So why did you?" he asked, rubbing his thumbs along her belly unconsciously.  
"Minerva wanted to see me," she explained, her face scrunching slightly in distaste. "I met our new transfiguration professor. He's… agreeable, I suppose."  
Harry was instantly in guard. Almost synchronized, his dragon part snarled in anger in his head. Even now, after a whole year, it was mightily difficult not to jump his mate and cover her in his scent. Not many people took notice of her bite mark on the side of her neck, though he wished fervently that they'd do. He didn't want another repeat of the Claire fiasco so soon and with a fellow professor to boot.  
"Did he touch you?" his voice was pure gravel.  
"Oh, I'm not that stupid, Harry," Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to push away from him half-heartedly. "It's not like you can smell him on me. Besides, he's married," she said, as if that would solve everything.  
It didn't.  
"Your faith in humanity continues to astound me, Hermione," he groaned, burying his nose in her hair. The light breeze of his breathing made her shiver.  
"A little faith never hurt anyone, Harry."  
"So you continue to say, but when the time comes and this bloke comes on to you, I'll rip him apart, I swear I will." His dragon couldn't be more in agreement with him. Honestly, if he didn't know better, he'd say that the protectiveness it radiated towards Hermione seemed to have increased overnight.  
She pulled away from him.  
The dragon roared with need to wrap itself around her.  
Harry turned her on her heels.  
"Harry, what-?" He silenced her with a kiss. Like a man dying of thirst, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and battered it to submission, Hermione releasing a muffled mewl of approval and pleasure. With uncharacteristic roughness, he pulled her up against the stone wall and lifted her skirt.  
The dragon continued its mating dance even after completion.


End file.
